see you later
by puptriarchy
Summary: k18 drabbles for the soul
1. photographic evidence

**1\. "You have a picture of me? On your fridge?"**

It could be worse, Eighteen knows. The picture is blurry, and it scarcely shows her profile - she possessed no memory of when it was taken, but there it was. Stuck on the fridge. On Roshi's fridge, no less.

"What's this?"

"It's you!"

"Clearly. Why do you have this?" Was this a polaroid? He had a camera tucked away, she knew - his numerous pictures of Goku and the gang were evidence enough. But on the fridge? Where _Oolong_ could see it?

She snatched it off the fridge.

"Hey, put that back - I didn't have a picture of you, and I wanted to put it somewhere where I could see it a lot!"

Eighteen held onto the photograph. Of course the bottomless pit (She swore he had the appetite of a Saiyan, but then she saw Vegeta at a buffet. Talk about damage.) would keep the photo on the fridge.

His reasoning was sweet, and dorky, and she felt a surge of affection for the sweet little man. She held the photograph out to him, and he swiped it quickly.

"Just… don't keep it on the fridge, okay?"

* * *

feedback welcome.


	2. critical bowling

**2\. "I'm not here to make friends."**

She didn't need to hiss like that, not at Videl. Videl raised an eyebrow, and Gohan tugged at his collar. The poor girl had tried to _comfort_ Eighteen post-Krillin's gutterball.

"Uhm, they're already your friends, Eighteen. Family, actually."

Her hands were on her hips, and the most serious look on her face. Eighteen squinted at the scoreboard.

"Not in this - this is serious. You need to step up your game. We're losing to _Yamcha,_ for Kami's sake - Yamcha and his bimbo girlfriend. Look at her, she can't even hit the pins. For that matter, neither can you."

They were only in third, geez. Videl was a killer bowler, and Gohan an average player - but an amazing cheerleader. Krillin envied Videl's support system; even his daughter was chastising him, her hands on her hips just like her mother. Mouth full of popcorn. .

"I - it's _hard,_ Eighteen. I haven't bowled since I was a kid."

"No excuses! You're better than this."

"We only bet 50 zeni -"

Eighteen scoffed. Marron made the same noise, and Eighteen's face briefly lightened with affection.

"You're up, Krillin!" Yamcha said, his girlfriend hanging onto his arm.

"Good luck!" she said. Eighteen scowled.

 _I can do this,_ Krillin thought, picking up the orange and white bowling ball. _I can do this._ His rented shoes slid on the floor with his feet, and stared at the pins with determination. _I won't let them down!_

He hurled the ball.

A little too hard, apparently, given the new dent in the floor, and Eighteen's loud snort.

The ball continued on regardless, and all ten pins fell with a satisfying clatter.

"Fuck yeah!" Eighteen said, high-fiving Krillin, and ignoring the Videl's quiet ("Really? Marron's right there."). "Hah, I knew you could do it!"

 _Man, I'm a stud._


	3. domestic worlds collide

**4\. "Do you think I'm scared of a woman?"**

"Uhm, no, but this _is_ Chi-Chi. She can, uh, be a little...intense," Krillin said, imagining Chi-Chi shrieking in his ear about Gohan. "I'm just saying that you should be careful. I don't know how she'll react when she figures out who you are."

Best case scenario she'll howl and bellow at Eighteen until they could escape the little cottage. Worst case scenario she'd pull a sword out of thin air and try to dismember Eighteen. _Or worse, she'll attack me and yell 'Traitor! How dare you!'_

He couldn't hide Eighteen from her forever.

Krillin knocked on the door with trepidation, and sighed with relief when Gohan answered the door.

"Hey, Krillin!" The teen said, a genuine small on his face. His expression only grew when he noticed Eighteen. "And Eighteen, right?"

Eighteen nodded. "Hello, Gohan."

Gohan locked eyes with Krillin for a moment before opening the door, and he _knew._ He invited them in with that same, knowing smile, and Krillin hated how smart he was, and how quick he was growing up. He motioned towards the kitchen, then excused himself to finish his studies. ("I've got to finish my math homework before dinner or Mom will be mad.")

Chi-Chi's kitchen was busy, but as usual, immaculate. The pregnant woman was handling three pans at once, and the smells made Krillin's mouth water instantly. _Man, am I glad we're here for supper. Nothin' beats Chi-Chi's cooking._ Even Eighteen looked impressed by the display of skill.

"Hello, Chi-Chi," Krillin said, and the widow jumped.

"Goodness, Krillin," she said, setting down a ladle, "You scared me." It was then that she noticed Eighteen, but she didn't jump. Instead she smiled politely, the perfect mirror of her son. "Oh, hello! Who is this?"

"Chi-Chi, this is, uhm…" _Eighteen, you know, but a different Eighteen. Definitely not the one who was gonna kill Goku. Nope._ "This is my girlfriend," He said, simply. A sort of lie by omission, but _damn it, that's not illegal. Quit looking at me like that, Eighteen. This isn't easy!_

Chi-Chi blinked incredulously, and Krillin felt a little insulted.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, with a smile and slow nod of her head, thoughts of Maron evident on her face.

"Likewise," Eighteen replied, back ramrod straight and stiff as a board. Her arms were crossed tightly. Krillin was surprised that she felt any nerves at all after her earlier assurance.

"You should have told me you were bringing someone else!" Chi-Chi huffed, "I don't know if I'll have enough to feed everyone now! Gohan's trying to eat us out of house and home, and _you,_ Krillin, are a pig in your own right!"

"Hey! No I'm not!"

Eighteen laughed softly. "You're quite right. It's quite impressive, his ability to make a pot roast disappear."

Krillin hadn't expected an instant comradery between the two women.

"Yes," Chi-Chi laughed, "I remember when he and my boys would share a supper - If I didn't fiercely guard my food, I'd lose it in a heartbeat." _My boys - hah, she's talking about Goku and Gohan, isn't she?_ "I'm sure you've learned to cook much larger meals now, hmm?" She stirred a pot of boiling heaven, and Krillin resisted the urge to grab a spoon.

"Ah," Eighteen said, "I don't really cook."

"Yeah," Krillin said, "she helped me cook some fish last month and -" Eighteen groaned loudly, "- and I had the _worst_ food poisoning."

Chi-Chi clicked her tongue. "You should learn! The way to a man's heart is through his stomach - it's the best way to give him a home! What if you have kids? You can't trust a man to feed them properly -"

"Woah, woah, kids? Chi-Chi - we've been dating a month," he stuttered and waved, a dark blush settling on his cheeks.

"You're certainly right," Eighteen said with a smile, "I would love to learn."

Chi-Chi eyed Eighteen with approval. "Krillin," she said, "You've certainly learned since Maron." The woman smiled softly. Then, she paused.

 _Wow, this is great! Chi-Chi likes her! She really does!_

"What did you say her name was again?"

 _Oh no._


	4. tough love is tough on everyone

**5.** " **I'm not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor."**

"Liar," spoke the mound of blankets and tissues.

"Nope," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and resisting the desperate urge to hold her hand, "Definitely won't feel bad. You can suffer here all you want, and when you're done we can go see Dr. Taro. Or if you'd prefer I can call Bulma -"

"God help you."

"It was just a thought."

Eighteen scoffed, then coughed.

It had shocked Krillin to see Eighteen shuffle out that morning, red-faced and paler than ever. Her eyes were red - likely from rubbing at them - and her movements were slow, gradual, like she were trying to conserve her limitless energy. The ridiculously strong, amazingly resilient cyborg was so clearly sick. Krillin duck and swerved before she could kiss his forehead.

"No, no, don't get _me_ sick, too."

"I'm not sick."

He squinted at her.

"...Really?"

"Yeah I d-...don…" Her nose wrinkled and twitched until she suddenly sneezed with the force of an air horn into her hand. She cleared her throat, and held her snot-soaked hand with great dignity. "I don't get sick."

The short man stepped back. He could be very susceptible to illness, and clearly whatever she had was some sort of genetically modified superbug that would leave him immobile for days and possibly kill him. Or at least make him very miserable.

She wiped her hand on her pajama bottoms.

Krillin cursed himself for skipping his yearly flu shot.

Her cooties were _everywhere_ by the time he corralled her back into bed. The cupboard, the sink, door upon wretched door - Eighteen had even thanked him by shoving her gross hand into his face, which made him fall over in a panic. Which made _her_ laugh so hard it turned into a fit of red-faced coughing. Only then did she admit that she might be a _little_ sick. _Yeah, and Vegeta is a_ little _mean._

Eighteen had all but collapsed into the bed with a sigh, which worried Krillin a little too much. _Is she tired? She doesn't_ get _tired. Oh no. This is bad!_

"C'mere," she said, voice muffled by her pillow. She clutched it not unlike a teddy bear, her blue eyes peering at him over the checkered case. Krillin could picture the deep frown on her face. "Comfort me."

"You should see a doctor," he said. Eighteen made an obnoxious gagging noise, and Krillin was reminded of her twin. "Oh, come on, don't be like that - I've been seeing my doctor since I was a _kid_. He's the sweetest old man you could ever meet -"

"Gross."

Krillin frowned.

Which brought them back to square one.

Eighteen was possibly the most stubborn person he'd ever met. She had ironclad convictions and an 'even when I'm wrong, I'm right' attitude that made arguing a lost cause. She committed to lines at the supermarket with such dedication that she'd wait for twenty minutes rather than switch tills. She'd fumble with a broken vacuum for hours rather than admit defeat and purchase a new one. Eat horrible street food 'cause, well, _she already paid for it_ , then _really_ pay for it that night. _Extremely_ stubborn. Krillin tried to take a page out of her book.

He let her suffer alone for two days. Watched her lounge on the couch, monopolizing the living room and television with all the power of a leper and resisted his desperate desire to hold her until she felt better. He missed her presence in his room and the way she'd ruffle his new hair and lovingly greet him with a short (or bald) joke in the hallway, or when she'd do anything because really her being sick is the _worst,_ and all he wanted was for her to be healthy 'cause he felt so bad for her -

On the third day she appeared in his doorway with a resignation he'd never seen in her.

"I, uh…" she began, her voice raspy and tired, "think I should go to a doctor."

 _I won!_ he thought with joy, then he became grim, _she must be feeling awful to agree to that._

"Okay," he said, "I'll give Dr. Taro a call."

Eighteen was quiet the entire trip to Satan City, and she took his hand before they went into the office. Upon entering the examination room and spying the sterile table and neatly sorted counter, she subconsciously squeezed his hand - _hard._

"Ow, ow, ow - Stop, you're gonna crush my hand."

She loosened her grip, but didn't release his hand, choosing instead to sit beside him in the extra chairs.

"Sorry."

It was then that Krillin started to feel guilty. He knew she didn't like doctors - didn't care for being poked, prodded, _examined_. He - he just wanted what was best for her but - who was he to pressure her, to ignore her for days to force her into _this,_ a situation she thoroughly resented and _feared?_

"You know if - if you need to leave, I get it. I can tell Dr. Taro your symptoms and that'll probably be enough for him to -"

"I'm okay," she said, leaning against his shoulder and closing her eyes. He could imagine the pace of her heart, and hoped her sweaty palms were from the fever.

A nurse entered the room five minutes later, pulling a blood pressure meter behind her.

"Hello," she said, "I'll need to take your vitals, miss."

Eighteen opened her eyes slowly, her lethargy something that scared Krillin.

"Do you need me to get on the table?" She said quietly.

"Not for this, no," said the nurse, missing Eighteen's reluctance and perhaps attributing it to exhaustion, "But the doctor will likely prefer you sit there - it's much more convenient." She wrapped the sleeve around Eighteen's right arm, and clipped a pulse monitor to her index finger.

"Your pulse is a little high," the nurse said dismissively as she jotted the numbers down, "But you're clearly ill. Don't worry - Dr. Taro will get you squared away."

Eighteen didn't respond, and the nurse left in uncomfortable silence.

"Thank you!" Krillin called after her.

The doctor stepped in soon after. Taro was an old man - clearly old enough to retire, but clearly healthy enough to work. Eighteen withdrew at his white hair and thick mustache. At least his blue eyes were kind and soft, not icy and full of malice.

"Krillin - it's good to see you again. Lookin' fit as ever."

 _Okay, maybe he's a little creepy._

"And you must be Eighteen," he said, stooping over the sink to wash his hands. "Not feeling too well, are we?"

"No."

"Hop on the table and let me have a look at you, then."

By the time he'd finished feeling her lymph nodes and listening to her lungs, she'd torn the table's paper thoroughly. Krillin wouldn't be shocked to see finger-shaped dents in the steel, given the way her hands dug at nothing.

The doctor pulled his stethoscope out of his ears with a contemplative hum.

"It would seem you have pneumonia," he said, "but don't worry - you're quite clearly in good shape, and some antibiotics will have you up and at 'em soon enough."

A spark went off in Krillin's head.

"Oh! Goten had pneumonia, don't you remember? _And_ he threw up on you, so that's probably how you got sick!"

Eighteen sneered at the memory, but Krillin had thought it was sweet how she had tried to comfort the little boy. Saiyan genes were incredibly strong - within days Goten was back terrorizing Chi-Chi and interrupting Gohan's studies with power surges. Krillin thought fondly of her brief show of motherly behavior, but clearly Eighteen didn't feel the same.

Taro chuckled at her expression.

"That'll do 'er. I'm going to give you a prescription for penicillin. Get plenty of rest and water - call me if you're not feelin' better in oh, I'd say a week."

Eighteen was relieved when they left. Dr. Taro was dumbfounded at the crushed corner of his table.

Krillin was so proud of Eighteen, but she pulled his hair when he said so.

"Tch - What, you're proud that I was a good girl for the doc? Are you gonna give me a lollipop and a sticker?"

She did kiss him fondly, though, her lips as soft and lovely as he remembered. _Gee, I never want to go three days without kissing her ever again._ He knew he must have looked as love-struck when Eighteen tugged on his ear and whispered, "You're such a cornball."

He could live with that.


	5. the twin furies

**6\. "Hey, have you seen the remote-** _ **Oh.**_ "

Krillin sputtered and blushed, falling off Eighteen's bed in shock. Thankfully, the blanket fell with him, covering areas her brother really did _not_ need to see. Krillin was grateful that _Eighteen_ had all of _her_ important clothes on, even if her pants were hanging off her ankles and she had to tug her shirt down.

"Ugh, gross - _guys,_ really?"

"You - you could've _knocked,_ Seventeen."

"You know I couldn't have. Your door is barely on the hinges as it is - thanks to _that_ guy."

From his spot on the floor, Krillin squeaked. _How is that my fault?!_

"Yeah, you heard me, midget!" Seventeen said. _Why won't he just leave?_ "If you hadn't gotten her that stupid video game she wouldn't have punched the door in the _first_ place -" Krillin suddenly noticed the patch job on the door. "- and _I_ would be able to knock and not have to see you and your stupid little -"

" _Seventeen."_

"That's not what I was going to say!"

This wasn't his idea; Krillin had come over here with pure, sweet courting intentions. Cuddling, maybe a little kissing, a _movie -_ but Eighteen was a _temptress._ Luring him into her bed, knowing full-well that her temperamental brother was in the other room. Her immature brother with a penchant for bad timing.

Eighteen pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Go _away_ , Seventeen."

"I'm going, I'm going," Seventeen said, "But while I'm here… do you know where the remote is? It's not in the couch cushions and -" Eighteen hurled a pillow at him, and he caught it deftly with one hand. "- and _you_ were the last one to have it."

From his spot on the floor, Krillin could see the remote under her bed, next to a pair of shoes he was certain were his, and a disgusting glass that had rolled under ages ago. He reached around dust bunnies - _man, she should really clean under here -_ and grabbed the clicker.

"Seriously? You can't just get up and -"

"You expect me to manually change the television channels? What year are you living in?"

"I can't believe you, Seventeen. You _knew_ Krillin was here and you still -"

"Uhm, guys," he said, interrupting as politely as he could. They glared at him in the same way, and he felt like a sheep among wolves, "I - uh, think I found it." Krillin held the dusty black controller up.

"Sweet!" Seventeen said, snatching it from him. "See I _knew_ you had it, Eighteen."

Eighteen's glare deepened.

 _Wait, was I_ not _supposed to do that?_

Her icy blue eyes pinned Krillin to the floor, and kept them there even as Seventeen blew a raspberry and disappeared behind the shoddy patch. Eighteen pulled her pants up.

"Do you know what you just did?"

"...Gave him the remote?"

"No, you made him think it's okay to come in here. Into _my_ room. _While_ _you're here_." She stood up and began collecting their clothes. His shirt, his jeans, his briefs - promptly thrown in his face.

"I -"

"Good job, shortstack." The patch in the door fell out when she slammed it, leaving him, on the floor, dumbfounded and clutching his underwear.

 _I just can't win._


	6. liquor in the front, poker in the rear

**7\. "We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"**

Eighteen was shouting at him, but he twirled in mid-air, his coat dangling off his shoulders like a cape.

"Yes!"

"We're gonna get hit by lightning!"

He swivelled and dropped like a stone. Eighteen darted towards the water, cutting him off perpendicular to the tumultuous waves.

"Hey," he yelled, and her clothes were thoroughly soaked, her hair was failing in her face, the thunder crashed in her ears, but he grinned at her, "I was gonna catch myself." Krillin pushed at her like a toddler trying to escape their _much_ stronger mother's grasp.

This was her fault. She never should have talked Krillin into that third shot. _Or the fourth. And I guess that makes the fifth a bad idea, too._

Her head was buzzing pleasantly, a light sort of tipsy that made her feel more calm than irrational. Of course, she had been throwing her shots out long before Krillin refused to down anymore alcohol.

 _Maybe that wasn't very nice,_ she thought, setting foot on the island before Krillin could wriggle his way out of her arms. He landed on the ground, ass first, then stumbled to his feet, water and sand covering his back and arms. His coat had disappeared in the water, and Eighteen knew he'd whine about it the next day, but _oh well, it was a tacky old thing._

Krillin huffed and puffed, then doubled over and lost his lunch.

 _Yeah, okay, I should be nicer._

"Ohhh, man," he said, "That's like. Twelve zeni."

Eighteen squinted at him.

"What?"

"The, uhm, burger? Was twelve zeni, 'nd now I can't keep it."

She sighed. He was soaked through, down to his skin, and she knew he'd catch a cold if he played out in the rain any longer.

"Come on," Eighteen said, tugging on his non-sandy sleeve, "Let's go in."

"No," he said, shaking his head and pulling his sleeve out of her hand, "It's not raining inside."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point."

"I'm not goin' in then."

She made to grab at his arm, but he hopped away on one foot. _What the hell is he doing?_ Eighteen thought, lunging at him and stumbling when he darted away. Before she knew it he was on the other side of Kame House, and she was losing her patience. _When did he get so quick? He's three feet tall and built like a rock._

Eighteen peeked around the corner when his face appeared. No matter what Krillin says, she did _not_ shriek and fall into a bush. Though, admittedly, she was covered in leafy debris when she carried him inside, clutching him so tightly he was blue in the face. She dropped him unceremoniously on the floor, and he landed with a loud thud.

He blinked and felt around the wood floor with one hand.

"Oh, good," he gasped, looking up at her, "I was getting cold." He was beaming, a glowing sort of smile with brightest teeth and the sweetest dimples.

She kicked him anyway.


	7. maybe we could - you know

**8.**

Krillin admonished himself for such childish behavior - he was almost thirty, after all, not thirteen.

But when Eighteen was around, he felt like he was thirteen. The same kind of thirteen year old that secretly studied Roshi's adult magazines and took far, far too many cold showers. The teen that had desperately prayed for a girlfriend, but never left the island for a date.

(Maybe he had hoped that one would fall out of the sky. Maybe a Launch his own age, but without the violent streak.)

It was especially difficult when he visited _her._

Her cabin in the woods that she shares with her _brother -_ her extremely powerful, _protective_ brother - as if it weren't bad enough. At least he disappeared for days at a time, returning only for ammo and beef jerky.

No, the worst part was her - _casual._

She'd invite him into the house, ("It's open! - Actually, it's always open, Seventeen broke the lock last week.") and he'd unwittingly entered her dark cabin in the woods. Entirely unprepared for her - stretched like a cat on the couch in her underwear and a loose, _loose_ tank top. The video game in her hands distracted her entirely; thankfully, she didn't notice how red he became,and only greeted him with a distracted _hey._

It was _always_ like that. He really wish she'd make use of some of the clothes in her overflowing closet, because it was _really_ hard to be nice, polite gentleman when her legs were just - just - _out_ like that. Or when he could see her bra.

Yeesh.

He thought at first that she wasn't aware of her effect on him, but it became apparent that she definitely, absolutely knew. Clearly Eighteen was a sadist - she'd stretch far more often than necessary, bend at the _hips_ to pick up anything on the ground (even when she definitely didn't need it), and her kisses would always linger a little longer than necessary. Long enough for him to feel her breath on his lips, close enough for her smirk to make him twitch.

Thankfully, she'd never comment on how obviously aroused he was, and he never mentioned it.

He would never push her, never coerce her into something she wasn't ready for, but - but he'd never been so _frustrated._ His hand got the job done well enough, but, well, maybe hers would be a little nicer.

It especially didn't help when he made the mistake of wearing a tight shirt, one that showed off his arms and thick muscles rather nicely. He liked the shirt for being flexible and comfortable. Naturally, Eighteen liked it for another reason, and she made _sure_ he knew, tilting her head like she were appraising fine art and running her hand down his chest with a contemplative admiration that made his stomach swoop.

"I like this shirt," she said, light pushing him away from her, "Flex for me, why don't you?" A smirk tugged at her mouth.

"Give me a show." Her voice was low, almost husky, and _man, she's such a tease._

He flexed one arm, and her eyebrow quirked expectantly.

"You can do better than that."

She closed the distance between them, her hand pushing up his shirt. Eighteen's knuckles brushed against his abs. His mouth went dry - her lips were centimeters from his ear, which turned a light shade of pink.

"Do you need some help?" She whispered, "Should I give you a hand?"

Krillin sputtered and blushed. His hands had just gone to his shirt when the doorbell - a surprising addition to the cabin, given Seventeen's shocking experience with the generator - rang.

"Hey, sis," Seventeen called, "I've got a metric fuckton of venison here and can't get the blasted door open."

Eighteen looked amused at Krillin's irritated look.

"Maybe you should go in the other room and - _ah -_ calm down." Her hand slid ever so slightly downward, knuckles brushing the top of his pants.

Krillin tripped over the couch on his way out.

It _always_ ended like that. For one reason or another, Krillin could never hit a homerun or third base or whatever Yamcha had called it. He kept getting nailed in the head by the second baseman.

Eighteen seemed to take a certain joy in riling him up and leaving him hanging; she _knew_ she had a magnetic touch, an allure that made him feel so juvenile. Especially when he was forced to - to _deal_ with it in a bathroom and watch Eighteen pretend like she _didn't_ know what he'd just done.

Of course, Krillin never failed to notice the way she winked at him after.

Eighteen was clearly attracted to him, ( _Maybe. I think. She kisses me a lot._ ) but they always fell short of - of - of _sealing the deal_ , so to speak _._ She would kiss him, open-mouthed and passionate, her hips pressed against his and the friction just enough to make his head spin. He could tell by the way she emptied her lungs totally and completely - and the way she filled them with a shudder - that her heart was pounding just as hard, and that, surely, she wanted this, too.

He could recall parties with spiked punch and Eighteen's hand in his, pulling him into an empty hall and pushing him against the wall. Krillin could still feel her hand on the back of his neck, and her kisses so sloppy he felt the need to wipe his entire face.

Eighteen had pulled away, her forehead pressed to his. He could feel her shoulders and hips and he realized that she was holding him several inches off the ground with a single hand. He could smell the whisky on her breath when she spoke.

"This is a bad idea, isn't it?"

 _No!... Maybe. Yes. Brain over brawn. Mind over matter. Thoughts over -_

"Yeah," he said.

She kissed him again, then sighed.

"Shit."

At least he knew she'd wanted this, too. But Eighteen always kept her head, even when he didn't, and he had to agree - their first time shouldn't be while they were drunk, nor should it be thirty feet from Vegeta and his love affair with the buffet.

Her nose brushed along his chin, and he heard her sigh with contrition.

"One of these days, pipsqueak," she whispered, "You'll quit getting away from me."

She left him there, ruffled and breathless.


	8. bon appétit

**10\. "Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion."**

"Are you serious? You're going to make yourself _sick,_ " Eighteen said, watching with disgust as the poor knife went from condiment to bread.

"Nah," He said, licking a spot of mayo off his thumb. "I eat these all the time."

 _I can never kiss him ever, ever again._

Krillin could be a little quirky; Eighteen had come to accept, even _like_ that about him. His quirks were unique, goofy in the best way. Most were endearing, like his need to align the seams in his socks perfectly along his toes, or how he hops up the stairs by twos, counting each pair as he goes.

Quirks were fine, quirks were _good_ , but this - this was _insane._

The jar of peanut butter seemed so innocuous, like it didn't know what was going to happen - until he stuck that same, damn _mayo_ knife in and spread it out on the sandwich.

"The mayo makes it really creamy," he said, folding the two sides together and taking a large, large bite. Eighteen almost gagged. He held out half to her, a horrible swirl of mayo and peanut butter spilling out the sides, "Wanna bite?"

 _Chi-Chi was right. Men are hopeless._

"Absolutely not. Get that abomination out of my face."

The sandwich was disappearing much, much too fast - he was getting peanut butter all over the counter, mayonnaise all over his shirt, and he was losing Eighteen's respect with each reviled bite.

"You know," he said,swallowing loudly "it's immature to hate foods without tryin' em. Like l'il kids, yaknow - they don't wanna eat their vegetables until they - " he licked his lips, " - give 'em a shot."

"Are you comparing a peanut butter and mayo sandwich to broccoli?"

"Yes. Yes I am," Krillin shoved the last bite of the sandwich in his mouth and grabbed the bread. "Come on, you'll eat your mac 'n' cheese with _ketchup_ but you won't even try my Miracle PB 'N' Whip?"

He seemed so disappointed in her.

"The macaroni thing isn't so weird. I know plenty of people who -" He was pulling too much bread out of that bag. "- are you going to make _another_?" She said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I'm hungry."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm _hungry_."

"That doesn't mean it's not _disgusting_."

"Look," he said, forming another dangerous sandwich, " _Try it_ , 'nd if you don't like it, I won't eat them anymore." Krillin presented her with half, and Eighteen frowned.

Just one bite of the sandwich and she'd be rid of them forever. Not unlike a vaccine - a harmless injection of peanut butter and mayo, then she'd be immune to this nonsense. This _madness._

 _Why is Krillin like this? I blame Goku, somehow._

She sighed and accepted the proffered slice.

 _I don't even_ like _mayo._

Eighteen looked at the sandwich, at the strange contrast between brown and white, at the poor white bread - she frowned at Krillin, then took a bite.

The little man had never looked so tense.

"...Well?"

"Well... the mayo _does_ make it creamy -"

"See! See!"

"That doesn't mean I like it! Hey - quit celebrating, you haven't won anything!"

"Eighteen likes mayo 'n' peanut butter! Eighteen likes mayo 'n' peanut butter! Eighteen likes - Ow, ow, ow, stop, _Eighteen,_ that _hurts_ _\- !"_


	9. a lot has changed

shout out to krillin fan for being a beta for me

* * *

 **11.**

Eighteen's obsession with Krillin's hair started the moment she saw it. Unlike his friends (particularly _Bulma_ ) who pulled his hair to ensure its authenticity, Eighteen had ruffled it into a fluffy mess, a soft hum emanating from her throat.

"I thought you were bald," she said with bemusement. He shook his head quickly, and hoped there weren't _actually_ hearts rising over his head comically.

Even now, well over a year (and some shy courting) later, she'd say goodbye by kissing his forehead and mussing his hair. Such affection made a blush creep up his neck and butterflies flutter, but he'd still huff and rush to a mirror to fix it.

She critiques every slight change in style and monitors its length like a hawk, but the effort put in is made entirely worth it when he's sat between her legs, back pressed to her chest and arms wrapped around him. Her arms would tighten around him when she pressed her nose into his head, and her breath warmed and raised the stubble on his neck.

"Did you change your shampoo?" She mumbled, vibrations causing a shudder to run up his back. _Wow, she noticed!... I shouldn't be surprised. This_ is _Eighteen, after all._ "It smells like... Pine. And rain."

The shampoo _does_ brand itself as "Lightning Forest", in a way that Krillin found slightly embarrassing. He wondered, briefly, if she possessed an enhanced sense of smell, but he wouldn't have been surprised if she was simply that good. _She's good at everything,_ he thinks.

"Yamcha recommended it," he confirms, "for getting all the ladies."

He could feel her smile. "You're taking seduction advice from Yamcha?"

"Hey, it worked _,_ didn't it? _You_ like the shampoo." Krillin thinks that maybe he should defend his longtime friend, but she wasn't _wrong._ He dated Bulma, after all, and his relationships had been spotty ever since. Poor guy.

"Maybe," she said, "But maybe I just like _you._ "

The television flickered and flashed; Krillin couldn't believe that Eighteen had agreed to watch a children's movie with him, but he realized that she _probably_ wasn't paying attention. Too busy thinking about his gorgeous gorgeous head of hair to care about a couple of dogs loyally heading home through the mountainous wilds.

(Gohan rarely watched anything violent, and certainly nothing adult; Chi-Chi's distaste for mature media had clearly rubbed off on the teen. Krillin found that he enjoyed watching light-hearted movies with Gohan, not matter how cheesy.

Of course, Eighteen preferred the most violent, vile movies possible. Horror movies he watched through his fingers and movies with scenes that Master Roshi would particularly enjoy. ' _Oh, come on,'_ she'd say between violent deaths and sex, ' _It's not that bad.'_

Krillin just preferred talking dogs to axe murderers.)

Eighteen stretched her legs, her joints giving a barely audible crack, and Krillin liked how warm her thighs were on either side of him. She was quiet, content, _probably thinking about how cool I am -_

"Actually, Yamcha _does_ have nice hair."

" _What?!"_

"It's true," she said, "His new haircut is quite sharp - brings out those cheekbones of his, you see, and those sideburns? _Very_ handsome. Women like nice hair, you know. "

Krillin frowned and turned to look at her. If he didn't know her so well, he likely wouldn't have caught the slight, teasing smile tugging at her lips.

He huffed and turned back to the television.

"Oh, come on," she said, her head peeking around his shoulders, "Don't be like that. Yamcha's got nothin' on you, even if his hair _is_ stylin'."

It was hard to be mad when her cheek was pressed against his and he could _feel_ her smiling. Krillin cuddled a little closer to her.

"You're lucky you're so cute."

 _My hair is_ way _better than Yamcha's, anyway._


	10. how's THAT for human?

**12\. "We need to talk."**

Eighteen was standing in the kitchen door, hand lightly curled around the frame and eyes dead set on Krillin.

"Look out, kid," Oolong said, "those aren't good words comin' from a woman."

Unlike Oolong, Krillin rarely feared women, and certainly never Eighteen. Even if Eighteen sometimes looked at him like prey, or the way she did now: with such intensity that he was suddenly aware of his hands, feet, the way he was sitting - _do I look natural_? At a moment like this, her face gave nothing away, but he could always read her body language:

Eighteen ignored the pig entirely - her stare burned into Krillin like a call to arms.

 _Something's wrong._

The bathroom's door shut so quietly that the click of the lock seemed shocking.

"Krillin," she said, her voice much quieter than he'd expected. Her whole body screamed hesitance, from the way her feet folded together and the way her cheek was turned. "I -" she sighed, and looked at the sink, its fluorescent lights casting deep shadows across her face.

"Eighteen?"

Her eyes flicked towards him, and she reluctantly faced him.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"What would you say if - if - I was -"

It clicked.

Krillin had expected _this,_ someday - _well, later._ He'd fumbled at a fancy dinner with a shiny ring and shaking hands, dropping to a knee and stuttering over a proposal she'd accepted with a leap, knocking the ring out of his hands and onto the carpet. Krillin had groped for it with one hand while she kissed him between a laughing _yes yes yes of course I will -_

He had to crawl, on his hands and knees and still shaking, shaking, shaking for that damn, too-expensive-but-also-perfect ring. Naturally, Eighteen found it from her feet, and picked it up with the biggest smile he'd ever seen -

It'd been better than any daydream.

But now, Eighteen seemed so pale.

"If you were…?" He said cautiously. The sort of lead where he _knew_ what she was going to say, but didn't want to spook -

"...Pregnant," she said, looking away nervously, "I took a couple of those cheap -"

She squeaked when he grabbed her, pulling her down to hug her tightly around her chest, cheek pressed to hers and hands buried in her hair.

A baby - a real, live baby. A perfect little baby, a perfect little addition to what was quickly becoming, well _the best life ever_. Maybe they'd have her sweet blue eyes and his dark hair and goofy noseless face, or maybe they'd look precisely like her mother. A third twin, but hopefully not as prone to violence as the two he already knew - _Oh my God, a_ baby!

"Oh my God, oh my God, _oh my God,_ how do you feel? Are you okay? Eighteen, I -"

"I don't know," she said, pulling away to look at him, so very hesitant, "I don't know."

"You don't know? What do you -"

"I don't know if I can do this," Eighteen said quietly, brows scrunched together. He could see the dark shadows under her eyes, and her hollow cheekbones seemed even more prominent - "I don't know if I can _have_ a baby, or have a _healthy_ baby, 'cause I'm - I'm - _not_ a human."

Krillin blinked.

He rarely thought of her as anything but a _lady,_ even if she's a very, very strong lady who ripped open milk cartons with such force that they explode all over her clothes and all over his nice clean kitchen -

"Eighteen," he said, "Everything will be okay."

"You don't know that."

"Of course I do."

"What if I -"

" _Eighteen,_ " he said, cutting her off softly, "You're still a _person._ Just a person with extra parts."

"That's a weird way to put it."

"...Okay, yeah, you're right but - the point still stands. If shellfish can make you sick as a dog, then you can have a baby."

"I don't think those are connected."

( _Eighteen_ hadn't even been aware of the allergy, so how was Krillin to know? He'd purchased the shrimp on an impulse, thrown them in the stir-fry with delight. It was delicious, up until he found himself holding Eighteen's hair while she hurled.

It'd been strange to see Eighteen doubled over a toilet, all of her typical grace lost to the porcelain goddess. Hives dotted her arms for a next day and half, and he had to chastise her like a chicken pox-ridden child - _itching will only make it worse!_ Naturally, she had snapped at him like a wounded animal, not at all thankful for his _love and support._

Krillin promptly threw the rest of the shellfish out.)

"Yes, they are! A food allergy is pathetically human, right?"

"Is being pregnant pathetic? Wait until I tell Chi-Chi."

The blood drained from his face.

Chi-Chi was _fiercely_ traditional, steadfast in her convictions the same way Eighteen was, but with a much stronger sense of morality. She believed in the necessity of the homemaker, the importance of manners and education - she was so very motherly, but _intense._

 _She'll be so good to Eighteen, but to me?_

At best she'd shout at him about responsibility and virtues, but at worst -

"Oh, God, she is going to _kill_ me."

 _At least she'll love the baby._

 _Oh my God, we're going to have a baby!_

Eighteen laughed, brief and breathy in a way that lifted her face. She smiled tiredly at him, and wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. Krillin hadn't even noticed the tears threatening to fall, but he did hear her sniff and sigh.

"Yeah," she laughed, "C'mere."

He hugged her warmly.

"Everything'll be great, babe. Just you wait."


	11. i'll be there to feel you up

**14.**

There's something wrong with kids these days.

First, he was called to arrest a group of teenage vandals drawing, "vaguely phallic shapes" on a _church,_ of all places. Being the good officer he was, Krillin had returned - post-complaint-filled trip to the station - to _help_ the little old church officials clean the crucifix shaped genitalia off the brick. Being the short officer he was - the short _normal_ officer, thank you very much - he'd had to borrow a ladder from a very angry neighbor who accused him of vandalizing the building _himself._ Despite his badge.

 _Then_ he caught a group of kids hurling _tomatoes_ on a billboard on the east side of town - Mr. Satan looked like he'd been beaten _violently._

Krillin didn't bother to clean _that_ mess up.

Finally, as a perfect end to a perfect day, he crossed the street - at the _crosswalk,_ mind you - and he narrowly avoided being flattened by a teen in a very, very nice car - with a very, very nice phone to match. So nice, in fact, she didn't put it down even as he issued a ticket.

(He prayed that Marron would stay small and sweet for the rest of her life. Short girls were cute; they weren't accused of being children by spoiled high schoolers.)

His home was a lovely, lovely sight.

His daughter's 'surprise hug!' (that she issued everyday) was even better, and her chatter about her very normal, very nice day was a welcome relief. Especially when she showed him the gold star her teacher had given her for good behavior.

Marron was _perfect._ Nothing would ever change Krillin's mind.

Chi-Chi was perfect, amazing, the second best woman in the whole entire world. _She_ was responsible for those lovely smells floating in from the kitchen. Eighteen was a diligent student; with Chi-Chi's help she'd gone from kitchen nightmares to kitchen delights shortly after Marron was born.

He was a _little_ offended that she only learned how to cook for Marron's sake - Eighteen let him create his own suffering meals before her birth - but at least he reaped the benefits. He couldn't complain.

"Hey short stuff," she said, leaning against the counter next to the stove. "How was your day?"

Krillin sighed, pulling a glass from the cupboard.

"Ah, well, y'know how it is," he said, turning the sink on. "Teens."

She looked at him for a moment, arms casually crossed and brows furrowed. She pushed off the counter with one hand and crossed the kitchen.

Eighteen's hugs were warm, comforting - she always pressed her nose to his hair, and he could always smell her light perfume. He felt sleepy, in a strange way, like they were laying in bed at the end of the day, not standing in the kitchen between the sink and a pan of sizzling meat.

"Rough, huh?"

Her hand was in his hair, lightly holding his head to her collar. He nodded against her.

"I'm sorry, love. How can I help?"

He was tired, drained, but she was so warm, so calming. Like a security blanket, but a thousand - no, a _million_ \- times better. One that brushed dust off his back, weight off his shoulders, and made him feel like everything would be alright - nothing was all that troubling when he could come home to _this._

He sighed comfortably.

"You already are."


	12. it's not you, it's me (and my trauma)

**15\. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe."**

Eighteen's breath was shaky, uneven, but each exhale was loud. She was stiff as could be, arms locked at the joints and hands jittering violently. He'd never seen her quiver like this, so pale and so _fragile._

It reminded Krillin of the time he'd visited Tien in the mountains and a blonde-haired Launch threw him in the frozen lake. He'd shuddered in front of a fire for hours, the cold seeping into his lungs and still biting at his toes. Krillin swore they'd fall off, but Tien had assured him that they would be fine.

Krillin hadn't cried quite this much, though.

"Eighteen, I'm sorry, I didn't -" He reached for her shoulder and she seized.

" _Don't."_

Krillin let his hand fall into his lap.

"Sorry," he said, quietly.

Eighteen eyed him. He'd never noticed how dark those shadows could look, and he'd certainly never seen her look at him like _that,_ with palpable fear. She averted her gaze and wiped at her eyes with frustration.

"This - this is so _stupid,_ " she said, voice cracking in the most peculiar way. He could all but hear her tears. "Why can't I just -"

"Hey, hey. It's not stupid. Given everything you've been through it's entirely reasonable that you'd have trouble with -"

"Krillin."

His mouth clicked shut.

"Sorry."

He shut up.

It had been going so well - great, even. They'd been so in tune, so in sync with one another. Kissing her was always good, but it was rarely _that_ good. Good enough to make his head spin and his entire body feel fuzzy and warm, with the sweetest curl in his stomach. Her nose was almost flat against his face, surely where his own should've been, and it was so nice to kiss her down against the bed like that, and even nicer when she pulled him a little closer. He wasn't sure when things shifted, when things stopped being so nice.

Maybe her breathing started to shake when he kissed her neck, but maybe he'd dismissed it as a good thing. Or maybe she'd stiffened when his hands slid under her shirt and onto her abs. Maybe it was nothing specific, but the cumulative effect of his hands on her skin and his hips pressed against hers, and maybe just a little of - of, he feared, _him_ , that made her push him away with enough strength to bruise.

It'd been shocking, the impact of his floor on the back, and even more shocking to see her sucking in desperate breaths - he hadn't thought her _capable_ of hyperventilating. She was a calm person, a _stable_ person, but in that moment she'd looked at him like a spooked horse, shy and averse.

"I can hear you thinking," she said, her voice hoarse and quiet. "It's - it's not you, I… - I _want_ this, Krillin. I want it more than you know."

"It's okay," he said, watching her hug her knees tightly, "It's okay. It really is."

He couldn't help but think maybe it was _him_ \- was he moving too fast? Too eagerly? She'd reciprocated genuinely enough, but when did that penny drop?

"Eighteen - _Eighteen,_ you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She laughed humorlessly.

"Rough life, huh?"

"Never with you."

He could see her jaw set. She stretched her legs and flexed her hands.

"Don't pretend," Eighteen said, a sort of venom in her voice, "That this is _normal,_ Krillin. That I'm -"

"You're amazing," he replied breathlessly.

"I don't get you."

"What?"

Eighteen side-eyed him, hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead - one hand running through her hair and the other settled across her knee.

"Why are you so perfect?"

He didn't feel perfect, sitting on his haunches on his cold, cold bed. Didn't feel perfect when she cried over him.

"Why're you so good to me?"

She didn't flinch this time, not when he took her small, frozen hand in his own. His hand was so much bigger, skin so much rougher - she was delicate, but even her lightest squeeze reminded him just how strong she was.

Still his hand covered hers.

"You're everything to me," he said, "And you'll have to try a lot harder if you want to scare me away."

"I'll come up with something."

There was the lightest humor in that. He almost sighed in relief, but instead he grinned brightly.

"Good luck, babe. You're stuck with me."


	13. is this dating? are we dating?

**17\. "Excuse me, did the 12:15 bus come by already?"**

Krillin looked up, then back to his book as quick as he could.

He'd never seen an angel in a denim skirt before.

"Uh, yeah. You just missed it."

Her hair was gold, her eyes blue - she was dressed like a punk in a teen movie, all stripes and denim with a flannel jacket that hung off her shoulders, and those piercings were _unbelievable._ Nose, ears, and that was just what he could _see_ \- he briefly imagined that there were _other_ piercings, and Krillin felt horribly like a pervert.

 _I blame Master Roshi._

"Shit," she sighed, looking down the street. The woman sat on the opposite side of the bench, entirely unladylike in her posture and stance - her legs were spread too far for someone in a _skirt._ Krillin chastised himself for looking.

"I am so fucking screwed. I hate public transportation."

 _It's not the bus's fault_ you _were late._

"Uh, yeah, you missed it by about five minutes."

"Fuck it," she sighed, "I don't even care." She leaned forward, elbows to knees and chin to hand. Her sleeve fell just enough for him to see the beginning of an elaborate tattoo. Her hands dropped to her lap when she looked at him. "When's the next bus coming?"

He'd come here specifically _for_ the next bus, sat on this grimy seat and waited patiently for it, but her stare, _casual_ as it was, made his brain fizzle and thoughts fry. He wished he wasn't such an obvious blusher.

"Uhm."

She quirked an eyebrow, then turned to look at the booth behind them. She squinted at the posted numbers.

"12:45?"

"Y-yeah."

"I could get there faster by _running,_ " she groaned.

"Oh," he said, "uhm. Where are you going? Are you going to be late?"

The woman looked at him for a moment, perhaps judging his trustworthiness - Krillin thought he looked awfully harmless, five foot tall and dressed like Mr. Rogers. He tried to put on a bright, interested smile, but her mouth twitched downward.

"I work on the other side of town," she said. "I'm supposed to be there at one, but my stupid brother -" she sighed, shaking her head.

... _You're going to work dressed like that? Where do you work, an underground fight club?_ He gave a passing glance at her knuckles, but spotted no bruising.

"What did he do?"

"He hid my car keys."

"Why would he do that?"

Unexpectedly, she laughed. "I kind of, ah… drew all over his face, while he was napping. Twenty minutes before a date."

She paused.

"With permanent marker."

"Oh my God," he said, eyes wide. He resisted the urge to scoot away from her. "That's awful. Why would you do that? To your own _brother?_ "

She shrugged.

"He was annoying me."

"While sleeping?"

" _Before_ that. Come on - you've got siblings, don't you? They're annoying as _hell._ "

He _didn't_ have siblings, no real blood family at all - but Goku was his brother in all _but_ blood. Perhaps that was a good thing: the gentle giant had never done anything quite so _malicious_ to him. Krillin was certain that Goku was incapable of being anything but kind. He would never hide his things, or purposefully ruin his face before a _date_ … Not that he had many of those.

"...Not really," he replied. "I have a - well, I guess you could say he's my foster brother? - and we've gotten along pretty well. I'm actually waiting for him right now."

 _Not counting when I was a twelve year old brat._

 _...Goku's always been a good kid, though._

She nodded slowly, those bright blue eyes burning into him. She seemed to enjoy watching him squirm under her gaze, an amused look on her face gave her away. He sniffed loudly and looked at his feet, then back at her.

"He - he lives out of town, y'know? And I don't see him all that often, so I thought I'd wait for him at the bus stop instead of just, y'know, waiting for him at my apartment? 'Nd I don't want him to get lost, 'cause I live in kind of a weird complex and he's - uh -" Krillin shrugged, "Not used to the city."

"I see."

He wondered what else she saw, looking at him like that. Her eyes were slow, studying him up and down. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing he'd worn something a little cooler than the sweater Chi-Chi had given him for Christmas.

 _It's cold, dammit, and this jumper is very practical and very warm._

 _Even if it_ does _have a turtle on it._

His loafers seemed so pedestrian.

Krillin wished his hair was a little more wild.

"So you're waiting for your brother?" she said, hands crossed in front of her mouth, hiding that small smirk he could see in her eyes, "Not your girlfriend?"

 _Girlfriend? What? What?_

"Huh? What?" Krillin blinked, "My girlfriend? No, I'm not waiting for my girlfriend - _Wait, no,_ I don't _have_ a girlfriend. Okay?"

That smirk grew bigger.

"...I'm waiting for Goku. A _man._ The _brother_ man. Uh."

 _Was that flirting? That was flirting, right? Asking about a girlfriend is_ definitely _flirting. Yeah, Yamcha would agree._

"I see," she said, "Nice, very nice - ah, look, there's the bus."

It was five minutes early, barrelling around that corner at break-neck speeds and slamming to a stop in front of them. The doors swung open, and Goku was out in a second, careening around the door and hopping onto the ground.

"Hey, Krillin!" He said, all six feet of him becoming an unexpected threat - a threat in a stupid tight shirt that perfectly showcased his thick muscles, even behind that varsity jacket he should've banked ten years ago. He beamed, those bright white teeth and spiky hair _way_ cooler than Krillin's could ever be.

The woman looked at him briefly, but her gaze almost immediately returned to Krillin.

Krillin stood, shoving his books in his backpack and shouldering the thankfully plain bag. "Hey, Goku," he said. "Did you have a nice trip?"

"Sort of," Goku said, "But I don't really know - I slept most of the way."

"Sounds like a good trip," the woman said.

The tall man jumped at her voice, as if he hadn't noticed her sitting there, very obviously, in front of the bus doors. He smiled at her genuinely, in that way that was so Goku.

"Oh, hello," He said politely, looking between her and Krillin, "Are you Krillin's friend?"

"We've only just met," she replied, shrugging casually. "But I suppose you could say that. Wouldn't you agree, Krillin?"

He really, _really_ liked how she said his name, with that confident alto _curl,_ the kind of voice that bounced in his head much longer than necessary.

She stood, ignoring the way Goku and Krillin stared at her. Krillin was lovestruck, but Goku was -

"How'd you get a nail stuck in your tongue?" He said, pointing at her mouth. Krillin smacked his own face with a hand, groaning loudly.

" _Goku -_ " He hissed through his teeth, " _It's a piercing!_ "

"Oh," he said, tilting his head at the metal in her nose and along her ears. "Why would you want to pierce your tongue? Doesn't it make it hard to taste food?"

 _Not actually a bad question,_ Krillin thought, perturbed as he was, _that metal bit must be annoying when she tries to eat ice cream, or anything else that, uh - needs a tongue? Oh, man._

"No, not really," she replied, shaking her head. "I can always take it out if it's bugging me - say, do either of you have a pen?"

Krillin rummaged through his bag and pulled one out, a small blue ballpoint pen that had been leaving horrible, uncapped marks all over his favorite books anyway. He held it out to her, and she took his pen, then his wrist.

He squeaked when she pulled him forward, pushing his sleeve up his arms. She began to scrawl on his arm with thick, confident lines that tickled his skin. Giggles bubbled up his throat, but he held them back as best he could. Before he knew it, she was done, leaving some dark marks on his wrist and smudged ink on his arm.

It was a number, _all ten digits!_ Complete, with an area code and everything, but she'd also scrawled "Eighteen" under them, which he didn't entirely understand, but, _wow! Her number!_

His gawking almost made him miss her whispered, "Call me," and he definitely missed her disappearing into the bus.

Goku broke the silence.

"Gee, what was that?"

He'd written the number down twelve times, in twelve different places, fearing that he'd lose the first eleven notes, then finally the twelfth - and he'd never see her again.

It would be simpler if he just called her - actually set _something_ up. At least get her name, instead of just referring to her as the "pretty girl at the bus stop".

(Until Goku told Bulma that she had piercings like crazy, and tattoos that baffled him - "Did you know she has a _nail_ in her _tongue_? That sounds just awful!" Subsequently, Bulma - then all of his friends - started to refer to her as Krillin's punk crush. Punk-barely-legal crush, according to Yamcha. That's all Eighteen _could_ mean - _age, right? Dude, she must have thought you were wicked cool_. _That_ made Krillin feel terribly creepy...and very old.)

 _Is it a cell phone number? Or a home number? Maybe it's for her work - the eighteen could be an extension, right? But she didn't look like an office type of lady. Should I text her? Maybe I should just call her. That won't come off as desperate, will it? ...Is it too early to call her? Should I wait?_

 _Oh, man._

 _This girl is killing me, and I don't even_ know _her._

She must've liked him, right? Or got some sort of good vibes off him - girls don't just give random men their numbers. Not to him, at least, because he'd seen Yamcha leave bars with three numbers and a lot of hope. They never called him back, of course, but it _happened,_ right?

"I've just got to _do_ it!" He said to himself, alone in his terribly domestic living room. His old telephone shook with his hands, the cord quivering along its length. It took him three tries to type the number correctly, that number he'd accidentally memorized in his obsession.

It rang once.

Then twice.

Then three times.

 _Oh, God, what if she doesn't pick up? Should I leave a message, or just call back later? Or should I -_

He could hear the receiver click, and he was greeted with a very tired "hello."

"Uhm," Krillin said dumbly, "Hello."

"...Hi."

"This is, uh, Krillin? From the bus stop? I hope I have the number right - uh. Hi. Is this, uh - Actually, I never got your name. Sorry."

"Oh," she said, yawning audibly. _It's two o'clock - did I just wake her up?_ "Krillin - right, with the dorky sweater?" He could _hear_ her grin, that tease, and he knew it was definitely her. There was a pause, one where he couldn't think of anything to say and she was clearly thinking. "Wait, you don't have my name? I swore I wrote it on your arm."

It clicked.

"...Hold on, your name is _Eighteen?_ "

"Yes."

"That's a….uh, a name."

She snorted.

"Yes, yes it is - say, would you like to go out sometime?"

"I - hold on, _I_ called _you_! I'm supposed to ask you that!"

Eighteen laughed, a breathy, genuine laugh he hadn't heard from her quite yet, but it was just as he imagined. Light enough to make his heart flutter, but deep enough to make his ears turn red.

"Alright. Go ahead."

"Would you like to go out sometime?"

' "No."

"Okay, how about - hold on! Hey!"

She laughed again, and he wished he could see her smile in person. He'd like to know how her nose wrinkled, or if she laughed with teeth and shaking shoulders. _She probably laughs like a queen,_ he thought, _really elegant. Maybe with her hand over her mouth and eyes closed._

" _Yes_ , we can go out sometime. Name a time and place, I'll be there."

So he did.

And so she was, resting against the brick of the building, peering at her phone while she waited. He took this moment of unawareness to look at her, from a distance, and appreciate the casual outfit she was in. It was much nicer than her grunge look from the bus stop, but he liked the way she looked _relaxed._ That soft white t-shirt, the light denim jacket - her skirt, actual _cloth_ and dark tights that showed her legs in a way he tried not to appreciate _too_ much.

Eighteen - that bizarre name he'd come to love so much, a number that he whispered over and over again - was early. Even earlier than _him,_ who'd set the date for 7:00 and appeared at 6:30, but she'd still beaten him there. He wondered how long she'd been waiting; she looked very comfortable leaning against the bar.

The bar was light, casual, and almost always quiet - the food, he found, was reasonably good, and the slightly exaggerated prices kept the boisterous college student away.

"Hey," he said, and she looked up, smiling at the sight of him.

"Hey."

Eighteen had a great wit, he found, even while wolfing down a burger and fries with as much enthusiasm as he had ever seen. She worked at a gas station - something she despised, but continued on for the hours and the poor state of her resume. She was a twin, twenty-eight (older than _him,_ thank God), and had never seen the ocean, something that shocked and appalled him. He promised, quickly, without thinking, that he'd take her to the ocean someday and show her the shores he'd grown up on, the islands he'd called home for years.

"I'd like that," she said, then told him about the mountain's _she_ had grown up in. The cold she knew and sort of, kind of missed, in that nostalgic way where it was _terrible,_ but it was home. He admitted that he'd never seen snow, and she seemed as equally shocked.

They were more similar than they were different, his gut told him.

Even if her tongue _was_ pierced, and her arms covered in tattoos. At his insistence she sighed and took her coat off, and he stared at the complicated designs (and admittedly at her rather nice muscles). Swirls and leaves, black birds he could scarcely make out and animals hiding amongst leaves. He couldn't tell exactly what they were, but he was secretly glad that they definitely weren't skulls, like he'd fear. He did see mountains, black and thick on her right arm, and vines stretching from her wrist to her shoulder.

"Wow!" he said simply and she smiled, clearly pleased at his admiration.

"Did they hurt when you got 'em?"

"Nah, not really - sort of near my elbow, but I've got a pretty good pain tolerance. I have other tattoos that hurt _way_ more."

"Oh, where are those?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She said, winking at him, "Maybe I'll let you find 'em sometime."

Krillin blushed.

 _That's very forward._

"I, uh," he said, clearing his throat loudly, "Uhm, I don't have any tattoos. Or piercings. Or anything like that."

"They're not for everybody," she said, shrugging. Then she grinned, and he could sense the teasing before it came, "You're _way_ too clean cut for them anyway. Seriously, you look like you should be teaching a high school English class. Those books you had at the bus stop? Thick as my thighs."

"...I like to read. It's fun."

Eighteen laughed.

"That's cute," she said, plucking a fry off of his plate, "A little nerdy, but cute."

He covered his plate with his hands, but she simply reached over him and stole another fry. Krillin frowned.

"What're your hobbies, then? Singing in a punk rock band?"

"No, God, no," she said, shaking her head, "My brother took up bass guitar a few years ago and - _God,_ he is so annoying when he practices."

"Do you live with your brother?"

"Yeah, for now," she said, "I don't make enough to live on my own yet. Our apartment is really small, but there's two bedrooms, so it's okay. My brother's not so bad. Just pesky."

Krillin didn't want to admit it, but he'd only moved out last year - only begun to live on his own at twenty-six. Correspondence courses had allowed him to finally, _finally,_ receive a formal education - training good enough to land a modest job as a modest accountant. Something consistent, relaxing. A job that let him work monotonously, in a way that let him gather his thoughts. It was almost therapeutic, those spreadsheets.

 _Now_ that's _nerdy._

"Yeah," he said, "I don't think there's anything wrong with living with your family."

"It's rough when you want a little privacy," she said, and Krillin wondered if that was flirtatious, too, then he thought he should get his mind out of the gutter.

Before he knew it, three hours had passed, and the tiny bar was shutting down for the night. He paid, despite her frown, and she stubbornly left a sizeable tip. Eighteen and Krillin stepped into the cold night air. Eighteen shuddered.

"Did you walk here?" He said, looking around.

"Yeah," she said, jerking a thumb behind her, "I don't live that far from here."

"Me either. Can I walk you home?"

"Don't be foolish," she said, shaking her head, "There's no use in you walking there, then all the way back to your place. Just go home."

"I -" He said, glad that the cool night air prevented his ears from getting red, "I just want to walk with you, if that's okay."

She sighed in exasperation, but her smile was soft.

"Alright, come on."

Eighteen took his hand and they walked to her apartment, a little slower than Krillin thought was necessary, but he liked it when she intertwined their elbows. She was so warm, and he could smell her perfume. It was nice, sweet, perfect like this cold night, walking with her down an empty street to her apartment building.

He didn't want to let her arm go, but she gently tugged away and turned towards him, a hand on the door knob.

"I had a good time," she said softly.

Krillin felt even shorter on the step below her, and he stretched on his tiptoes when she leaned over to kiss him lightly on the lips. He felt like he was going to fall over, but her hand was on his cheek and he was sure she'd catch him.

"Good night, Krillin," she said, turning the doorknob and disappearing into the building.

"Good night," Krillin said.

The door clicked shut.

He met her next by circumstance.

His car was old - reliable, but old, with the inconveniences to match - The AC was spotty, and the radio caught two channels at a time, in addition to a whole lot of static. It also drank power steering fluid like _mad_ , leaving him cranking the wheel all the way to a gas station, where inevitably they would have _none_ and he'd have to walk half a mile, tie thrown over his shoulder and sweat staining his clothes, to the next one.

Of course he'd run into her like this, sweaty and exhausted in the worst way. The kind of sweat that made him stink like a pig, and the kind of exhaustion that made him push on a "pull" door and rest his head on the glass with a sigh.

And there she was, as conservatively dressed as he'd ever seen - which wasn't saying much, really, and Krillin wondered if this gas station had any dress code at all. Her nose ring was missing, which was definitely a start.

Eighteen was leaning over the counter, with her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face. Krillin knew she'd seen the whole thing.

 _Great. Just great. Icing on the cake. At least it's nice and cool in here._

"Hey, cutie."

 _Okay, maybe it actually_ is _great._

"Man, you look like shit."

 _Nevermind._

He sighed, unsticking his shirt from his chest.

"Do you have power steering fluid here?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Maybe, it'd probably be over there." Eighteen pointed at a shelf down the row and he shuffled down the way until he found himself in front of engine cleaner and oil.

He almost cried when he saw the single, lonely bottle of exactly what he was looking for. For $3.99, which was _absurd,_ but he'd accept a little price gouging today. If only so he could finally get home and take a shower.

 _Then a three hour nap. Then another shower. And some pasta. Not at the same time, though._

Krillin turned to pay.

Eighteen was watching him intently, head tilted slightly. She blinked slowly, lip curled, and Krillin couldn't pretend to understand her - _she was definitely checking me out. She's not even_ trying _to hide it._

It was nice for his self-esteem, though.

Krillin placed the bottle on the counter and dug his wallet out, but Eighteen didn't move, holding him as a social hostage. She considered him, head in her hand, and spoke.

"You didn't call me back," she said, frowning.

He blinked.

"Back? What? You called me?"

 _She called me? And I didn't answer? Or even call back?! Oh my God, what if she thinks I don't like her and she's moved on to another guy. He's probably six foot four and can bench press three hundred pounds -_

"Yeah," she said, hand falling to the counter, "I did."

"I - I had no idea, you _gotta_ believe me - I work a lot, and - and my phone doesn't have caller id and my voice mail is _awful_ but I really like you and if I knew I - I would've called back right away, 'cause I had a lot of fun on our date and I'd really, really like to do it again. Whenever you want - I'll make time for it, okay?"

Eighteen laughed, unconcerned. His heart leapt to his throat.

 _She definitely doesn't like me as much as I like her, or else she'd be more worried, right? But she did bring up the call thing, so she obviously cares, right?_

But then she surprised him.

"You doin' anything tonight?"

Krillin shook his head immediately, despite his strong desire for a cool shower and a warm bed.

 _They can wait._

He caught a whiff of his body odour.

 _Well, maybe not the shower._

"How 'bout you come over to my place at eight? I rented this stupid movie yesterday, and I need someone to watch it with."

He nodded immediately.

"Then it's a date."

He almost skipped all the way back to his car. He whistled as he propped the hood up, and sang along to the radio all the way home - even into the shower, where he made sure to use his best shampoo and manliest body wash.

Krillin's exhaustion seemed to fall as his mood improved, and he began to think that Eighteen was more refreshing than any nap could be.

The clock moved too slowly, leaving him twiddling his thumbs.

 _Should I change? Is a t-shirt too casual? What if she thinks I don't care about the date - maybe I shouldn't wear jeans? I'd have to iron my khakis, though, and I can't wear a t-shirt with that. Would I be too dressed up with a button-up?_

 _...Am I overthinking this?_

 _I wonder what Eighteen's wearing._

That thought distracted him pleasantly until he arrived at her door.

The buzzer was ridiculously hard to press, but he got through to her anyway, and soon enough he had his answer -

She was in shorts and a tank-top.

His khakis felt like too much.

"Hey," she said, smiling genuinely, "You look nice."

"Thanks," Krillin said, "You do too."

She laughed and tugged at her tank top. It curled up slightly, and Krillin could see the bottom of _another_ tattoo. He glanced down and was surprised to see that her legs were mostly bare.

"Sorry," she looked down at herself, "I was too tired to make an effort, I guess."

"No, no," he said, shaking his head, "I mean it. You always look nice."

Eighteen rolled her eyes and let him in.

Her apartment was a little messy for his taste, but tolerably clean. He didn't much care for the shoes haphazardly strewn around the door, but he took his shoes off and set them, neatly, by the others.

"You want something to drink?"

He noticed, suddenly, the tiny kitchenette to his left.

"Uh, sure," Krillin said, trying not to watch too closely when she leaned over to grab him a beer. A thought popped into his head, unwarranted.

"Say, is your, uh, brother here?"

"Nope, he works late shifts at a twenty-four hour diner," she said, shaking her head, then side-eyed him with amusement, "Think we need a little privacy, huh? What're you planning?"

Krillin blushed.

"N-nothing! I was… just wondering. That's all."

Laughing, Eighteen brushed past him, back into the living room. He followed, drink in hand, and considered what exactly he'd gotten himself into. Eighteen fiddled with her DVD player for a moment, holding the case out to him.

"Holy shit," he said, peering at the case. Of the two faces on the screen, the first was a child's, he was fairly sure, and the second was some sort of alien robot, spliced in a mid-nineties graphic. "Why would you rent this?"

"I had a coupon - awful movies can be _fun_ , Krillin, alright?"

"...Is it scary?"

He had a feeling that horror was her go-to genre, given the scary piercings and numerous tattoos.

"What? No -" she flipped the case around, studying it. "No, look, it's PG. Not even PG-13. Don't be such a baby, Krillin."

"Fine, fine," he said, not actually all that perturbed as he sat on the couch, not when Eighteen was sitting next to him with her legs slung over his lap. Even when the movie started and quickly proved itself to be a horrible choice, he didn't feel all that bored. Eighteen's commentary was enough to make him laugh, though most of it was an unclever mockery of the dialogue.

This was _definitely_ a good use of his free time.

Eighteen grew quiet as the movie dragged on, leaning on her arms and restlessly moving her legs from his lap to the floor to curled beneath her - every movement shifting her closer to him. She reminded him of an impatient child, unable to sit still and just _watch_ the movie - a movie _she_ had chosen, had wasted a coupon on, and now _refused_ to watch.

He kind of liked the movie.

It was, then, a little shocking when her hand ran up his neck and into his hair, and Eighteen laughed when he jumped, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Did I scare you?"

"Yeah," he said, shuddering at the touch of her hand. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing."

Eighteen pressed her lips to his and he suddenly found that he really didn't care about the movie.

This wasn't what he had expected when he came over; he had thought that he would _actually_ watch a bad movie, not learn exactly what that stud in her tongue felt like against his own - but he wasn't complaining. Not even when she swung her legs over his and completely blocked his view of the television, or when the sound of her breath seemed to cover the sound of the movie.

Her hips were against his, and he couldn't help but appreciate this -

She had perfect timing, grinding her hips down in pleasantly smooth motions. Eighteen's lips - and that stupid tongue piercing - against the crook of his neck made his head spin and breath catch, and the movie seemed unimportant when compared to her mouth working against him.

He knew, then, that he wouldn't get out of this without an embarrassing hickey, one that he definitely wouldn't be able to hide - Krillin wondered if Eighteen was doing this on _purpose,_ trying to force him to wear a scarf in the middle of summer. But he didn't _want_ to stop her, even when her teeth felt a little too sharp and rough against his skin, nor did he stop her when she moved and began another horrible red mark on his collar bone.

She drew back, hands on his chest and a grin on her face.

The movie was winding down, the credits surely minutes away - Krillin kissed her cheek, and wondered where this would go. Or whether he _wanted_ it to go anywhere, for that matter; Eighteen seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move, to decide definitively _how_ they would spend the rest of the night.

 _Are we dating? It can't be good for our relationship if we have sex on the second date - I'm wearing my Aquaman underwear, too. Should our first time really be in front of a crappy sci-fi movie? Am I getting ahead of myself?_

 _Am I even allowed to call this relationship?_

He cleared his throat.

"...Do you want to watch another movie?"

Eighteen rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine.

"Sure."

Krillin made a resolution to get to know Eighteen better.

He wanted a third date, and a fourth date, and a fifth and sixth and seventh - he wanted a _real_ relationship with her. A sappy, loving relationship with someone who was considering getting a neck tattoo.

He hoped she wouldn't, but, _hey, that's her choice._

Maybe he had a new favorite gas station (despite its slightly higher prices), and maybe his brand new (first ever) cell phone had Eighteen's number in it first, but that certainly wasn't for _her._ These were practical things, of course.

That gas station just _happened_ to have the best slushies.

Sure, he didn't _need_ to hang around after his two dollar purchase, but Eighteen would lean over that counter and listen to him talk about his day, and he'd get to hear about hers and, it's not _that_ far out of his way.

He just liked talking to her.

"I've been thinking about getting a pet," Krillin said as he watched Eighteen struggle with the station's crappy coffee pot. "Not like a cat or a dog, but something smaller. Maybe a hamster."

"Seventeen had some rats when we were kids," she said, pouring the coffee out, "They were actually pretty intelligent. They figured out how to undo the hitch so they could bust out of their cage; we had to put an actual padlock on the door to keep them in."

"I don't want anything smarter than me," he said, enjoying her snort of laughter. "I might get a big saltwater aquarium and some cool fish. Or shrimp - Hey, would you want to come to the pet store with me? When you get off?"

Eighteen leaned her back against the counter, making a show of considering it with an audible hum.

"I suppose I _could,_ " she said, sighing dramatically, then smiled.

"I'll pick you up at four?"

"Four thirty - I've got to shower."

"Deal."

They were at the pet store by five, inspecting animals and food with all the knowledge of two people who never owned any pets.

His apartment wouldn't allow a cat, nor a dog - which he hadn't wanted in the first place: he couldn't stand the thought of leaving a sweet little dog home alone all day, and he thought a cat would destroy his home in a hurry.

His comic collection was too important too risk.

Still, though, Eighteen had him stop and watch the kittens bat at each other in their pens. They seemed awfully coy, pretending to clean themselves one second and jumping on their sibling the next, little paws and little claws making dangerous weapons of mass destruction.

They _were_ cute, though.

She was right on that.

They moved on, for no reason at all, to the puppies. They were housed separately for the most part, except when one shared a breed with another: he wiggled his finger at a pair of little pomeranians who scratched at the glass and barked at him.

"This one reminds me of you," Eighteen said, drawing his attention to the tiny spaniel puppy standing against the glass and yapping loudly. "He's very cute, but he won't leave me alone."

Krillin huffed, looking at the terrariums across the store.

"No more puppies, let's go find a _real_ pet."

"A _real_ pet? Like a frog?"

He tugged on her arm, and she acquiesced, following him across the way.

Since he was young, Krillin had been drawn to reptiles and amphibians. He recalled the time, as a child, when he'd caught a gecko in Roshi's basement and hidden it in his room - in his favorite bowl, because his gecko deserved _only_ the best. The only mistake he'd made was showing it to Goku, who, baffled, asked Launch _why_ Krillin would want a slimy lizard in his room, and the pet gecko quickly found his way back outside. He wasn't allowed to catch frogs anymore, either.

Goku had ruined his favorite pastime.

"Ooh," Eighteen said, peering from tank to tank and pausing on a particularly dank one, "Look at this one - a tarantula. How's _that_ for a real pet?"

The spider seemed to wave at him with one of its eight hairy legs. Krillin recalled, suddenly, a movie he had seen, once (between frog hunting trips), long ago - an awful movie, in hindsight, but still terrifying: who _wouldn't_ be scared of giant, man-eating spiders?

He shook his head quickly.

"Too many legs."

Eighteen pointed at a snake.

Little garter snakes had been fun to catch, too, but he remembered the time Goku had accidentally stepped on one's head and it -

Needless to say, he didn't like snakes anymore.

"Too few."

He looked the other tanks, at the frogs and lizards, until he came upon something a little different.

Basking on a large, flat rock in its tank, a small painted turtle winked at Krillin. His pretty shell was brown and orange, and yellow stripes covered his face and feet. Krillin liked his little tail, too. He flexed his claws leisurely - clearly, he was practicing the turtle style of relaxation. Krillin nodded in understanding.

"The turtle?" Eighteen said, leaning right into his line of vision. "You want a turtle?"

Krillin nodded again.

"Look at him," he whispered, "he's so cute! Help me look for a tank, I need a really big one - with a filter, and I need a big rock and a lamp and - do you think they've got a little turtle keeping guide book?"

"Uh, probably, but it sounds like you've got it down."

Krillin's face was an inch from the tank - if he had a nose, it'd be pressed flat against the glass.

They left, a full hour later, lugging a massive tank and every upsell the store offered - including, of course, the smug little turtle himself. Eighteen grumbled the whole way, but helped him regardless. Up three flights of stairs, twisted around his doorway, and settled onto the table in his living room. He grinned at her brightly, holding the turtle in his temporary crate.

"Oh my god - you look like a little kid right now," Eighteen said, setting the most expensive turtle food he'd ever seen down. "You really like him _that_ much?"

"Yes," Krillin said, nodding solemnly and holding the crate up to his face, "and I have the perfect name for him."

"What?"

" _Umigame._ "

"...Sea turtle? Really? He's not even a sea turtle -"

Krillin frowned at Eighteen.

"Okay, okay."

Umigame was as smug and pleased as ever.

Eighteen had started to find him as much as he her.

She'd appear at his apartment once a week, unannounced but always welcome, and never with a lousy excuse like he would have used: he'd greet with a _hey,_ and a _what's up,_ and she'd always reply with a simple, _I wanted to see you._

Then she'd help him make the messiest, most unhealthy dinner he'd ever had - she treated salt like an essential flavor - or she'd commandeer his television and make him watch terrible reality TV with her, but he would get to cuddle up to her for over an hour, so he never complained.

Sometimes, she'd spend the night.

(Never as risqué as it sounded, though he knew his friends would crow at him regardless if they found out. Bulma would shriek at him, and Yamcha would howl his approval, calling him a stud - Goku would ask him if she ever got that nail out. He thought, maybe, that she really just liked how quiet his apartment was, where only the soft bubbling of Umigame's tank broke the silence.)

He rarely felt more comfortable than he did with Eighteen's nose pressed to the back of his neck, listening to the sound of her deep, slow breathing. Eighteen held him, arms wrapped around his chest and a leg thrown over his. The television flickered silently, but his thoughts felt loud.

He wondered, like he did every time he saw her, what he was to her.

 _She kisses me a lot, and she doesn't seem to mind when I hold her hand in public, and she really, really likes texting me pictures of her outfits - but that doesn't mean anything, right? The kissing might, but that doesn't necessarily mean we're_ dating; _Some people just kiss their friends, right?_

 _She lets me pay for dinner._

 _...But she's pretty broke, too, so it might just be that._

Krillin rubbed his eyes.

He thought about her all the time; the tiniest things reminded him of her. Cats, crappy cars - Umigame, who always seemed to know what he was thinking. He'd trip over the bottom step and imagine what she'd say, or he'd listen to that blue-haired girl at work struggle with the printer and talk about nothing and wish that Eighteen was there to make fun of her with him. He'd lay in bed, alone at night, and wonder if she was actually asleep, or if that 'good night' text was just a habit.

 _Just 'cause I think of her a lot doesn't mean anything,_ he thought.

She shifted against his back, sighing loudly.

 _I should just ask her, right?_

"Eighteen?" he whispered, "Are you still awake?"

He felt her stretch, saw her arm extend and re-curl itself around him before she spoke.

"Yeah," she exhaled, breath tickling his ear and her voice soft, "I'm 'wake."

"...Are we dating, Eighteen? Like, are we boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"F'course…" she mumbled, trailing off in sleep, "F'course we are, love."

Even half asleep, Eighteen seemed so much more confident than him, but Krillin's mind was _buzzing._

 _Eighteen's my girlfriend!_

His witty, punk-rock girlfriend who once broke her leg trying to kickflip her skateboard off the top of a small set of stairs - she'd been fifteen, and aced the trick at seventeen, with a fresh board and knee-pads. His thrifty girlfriend who'd argue with little old ladies at the farmers' market over a three dollar and fifty cent jar of homemade preserves - his soft-hearted girlfriend who brought treats for Umigame - a strawberry here, some lettuce there, always hand-delivered by the woman herself.

His girlfriend who snored softly at his back.

Krillin grinned and fought back the urge to flip over so he could kiss her silly - Eighteen seemed so tired, so comfortable, and he really liked how she was holding him at the moment. He wasn't in a rush.

He would kiss her in morning.


	14. hot blonde interrupts man's alone time

sfw, despite the dumb chapter name

* * *

 **18.**

Krillin was a creature of habit.

Every morning he awoke at five thirty. He'd crawl out of bed and flick on the light - causing Eighteen to hiss and flip a pillow over her face - then he'd pull an outfit from his first, second, and third drawers: a shirt, shorts, and underwear, respectively. Then he'd turn the light off - a new habit he'd been forced into - and make his way to the bathroom, which was always empty with a door swung open from a midnight voyage by a careless roommate. Or sometimes his girlfriend.

The door would shut with a loud squeal, and he'd hop in the shower.

This was the basic package for the day, for two payments of twenty-five minutes he could be washed and ready for the day, but once a week - always on a Saturday - he'd switch things up.

Just a little.

Enough to bust out his cheap razor and - after briefly mourning the satisfaction of a perfectly shaven head - shave his face. He'd shave that light, light shadow that one would have to squint to see and really _didn't_ need attention, but Krillin didn't enjoy scratchy stubble on his otherwise smooth, boyish face. It was _unsightly._

And so, he shaved.

Even this weekly special was planned and cemented in his routine. He was sure that, even without a calendar, his habits could continue indefinitely. They were comfortable - calming in a mindless way, because he didn't have to think to act, and his brain was so very rarely silent.

It was a little annoying, then, when someone began pounding on the door.

"Yo, Krillin," Eighteen called.

He'd only open the door for her.

"Sorry, babe," she said, huffing in amusement at his shaving cream beard, "I forgot about Seventeen - he'll be mad if I'm late, so I really need to shower."

Eighteen made a point of seeing Seventeen at least once a month - a necessity that often ended with a horrible hangover and a frightening new story, but she was always much happier after seeing her twin.

She dodged behind him and stripped fast as lightning before hopping into the shower. Krillin cleared his throat.

"Okay, then."

 _But I'll be damned if I stop shaving for this._

He picked up his razor just as the water turned on.

(It baffled Krillin, but Eighteen loved ice cold showers. He'd showered with her on several occasions, and she never willingly touched the hot water - no matter how nice she looked naked, there was something about arctic temperatures that just wasn't sexy.)

Krillin dipped his razor in the sink. He began that first scratching motion along his right cheek as he looked up, into the mirror, and he caught sight of something that made his hand stutter and slip.

He could see Eighteen through the glass door of the shower - through the fog and mist, he caught sight of the way her back arched as she washed her hair, of the outline of her body - of _her._

The cut stung and his cheek burned.

 _Really?_ He groaned to himself.

Krillin wiped at his cheek, reluctantly placed a shred of toilet paper over it, and started again, smoothly drawing the razor down his chin in a short, painless arc. He washed the shaving cream and started again.

He spared another glance at her.

Eighteen was _fit,_ muscular in a way he could see even through such obstacles. He could almost picture how she'd feel, smooth and wet against his hands - maybe his chest, or pressed against his hips with her legs wrapped around -

His hand slipped again.

Two cuts became three, then four, as he couldn't help but notice her behind him - he blamed his razor, partially, despite it being brand new and very (as he now intimately knew) sharp. He soon had an unsightly, patchy beard of toilet paper bandages on his (now smooth) face, marring the _beauty_ of a clean shave. Krillin leaned against the sink and sighed.

 _Why does she have to be so hot?_

Eighteen could sense his vulnerability, smell it in the air like a lion smells fear, so it didn't surprise him when the water ceased and she stepped out, the object of his affection, the subject of his problem.

He closed his eyes and felt the cold counter on his forehead, wishing it were a cold shower -

 _Eighteen likes cold showers,_ he thought with a twitch, _I'm sure that water was ice cold, but she's always so warm and -_

"You alright, love?"

He looked up just as she finished wrapping a towel around herself, tucking it in place. She did a double-take when she looked up, blinking at his bloody beard before frowning slightly.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, leaning forward to press a hand against his forehead, "Why'd you cut yourself so much?"

Krillin wished he wasn't such a dark blusher.

"I - I'm fine."

She quirked an eyebrow at the crack of his voice, but shrugged amicably.

"Alright. Weirdo."

The door clicked shut as she left him behind. Krillin examined his face in the mirror and sighed.

 _Really, though, why is she so hot?_


	15. turtle hermit parenting technique

**19\. "I lost the baby. "**

Eighteen was _hissing._

" _You - lost - the - baby?"_

Master Roshi cowered from her growing rage, holding his hands up in as calming a manner as her could - Krillin looked between his wife and his master with concern.

 _Huh, I've never noticed that vein in her forehead before._

"N-now, Eighteen, no need to worry - I _just_ had her and -"

"You _lost_ an _entire_ thirteen pound baby?"

("Would you rather he'd lost only part of her?" Oolong grumbled.)

"O-okay, Eighteen," Krillin said, stepping in between them and back at the red flash in her eyes, "We - we live on an island and it shouldn't be that hard to find her, right? She's not even crawling yet so - Uhm, Master Roshi? Where did you last have her?"

"Are you asking him to _retrace his steps?_ To find our _baby_?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

Eighteen frowned and turned her attention to his master.

Master Roshi hummed thoughtfully, a hand to his chin, his fingers brushing through his beard.

"Let's see…

'Well, as I recall, Krillin gave me the li'l tyke and asked me to watch her for a bit while I was catchin' up on my morning exercises -" Krillin avoided Eighteen's eyes, "- then, when I was done with my morning exercise, we went outside to enjoy some wholesome literature together in the sunlight. Y'see, I got these new magazines and the ladies in it are - _heh,_ well -"

" _Get to the point!"_

Master Roshi adjusted his sunglasses.

"Yes, well," he paused, "I believe I last had her in your room."

"Our room?" Krillin said, turning to see Eighteen disappear in a flash, "Why were -"

He paused mid-step, shaking his head.

"...You know what? Never mind."

Her found their room (which had been _his_ room, but now with a real bed and half the superhero posters) in a state of _chaos_. Eighteen had, he figured, torn it to pieces in under a second while looking for Marron, but now she sat on the bed with their daughter, who, judging from the silence and Eighteen's calm look, was asleep.

 _See, I_ knew _Master Roshi wouldn't endanger Marron._

Sharks and bees popped into his head as he carefully sat next to her.

 _...Well, I was pretty sure._

"She was in our _dresser,_ " Eighteen whispered, "That pig put our perfect little Marron in the _dresser_ \- I don't want to know what he was even _doing_ in our dresser."

"Could be worse," he whispered, "He could've been after our hamper and who knows what dirty sock Marron would've ended up in."

Eighteen pushed him off the bed.


	16. north city

**20.**

Krillin didn't care for North City.

It was _cold_. Even the summers were chilly by his standards - his tropical home had spoiled him with constant sunshine. Comparatively, North City's weather was dreary.

But other than that, it was a nice city. Safe, active. Its economy was stable, and housing wasn't ludicrously priced like it was in West City. He could imagine walking Marron to a school down the road from their home, or maybe flying her there if it was a little too far for her short legs (or his, for that matter). He'd heard nothing but good things about the schooling here. He could bundle up and brave the cold climate, if it came to that.

Maybe he could even grow to love the snow.

So he was here, shivering in the heaviest jacket he owned, wandering around the downtown area. Marron and Eighteen had stayed home - he was only here to get a feel for it all.

(It was strange, having twenty-five million zeni in their bank account, but entirely welcome. It always made him laugh. _Eighteen's so smart,_ he thought, _extorting a celebrity. What a babe.)_

Of course they'd buy a house with their winnings, and North City was only one of their options. West City had been another, but he blamed Bulma and her megacorporation for the enormous cost of living. They considered Satan City, too, but they strolled through their options leisurely. It was almost becoming a guilty pleasure of theirs - exploring cities, researching schools, touring homes.

 _Money is awesome,_ Krillin thought.

North City's downtown area was, in a word, _quaint._ The street was wide and the buildings clustered together in one long fire hazard. West City, he recalled, was a prime example of the _new,_ and large buildings like Capsule Corp dominated its business district, but North City was entirely different.

It was neat, by comparison, to see the post office squished between a bar and a thrift shop, so of course he had to go in.

The post office matched the rest of the block. The PO boxes lining the wall were small, with faded labels and tarnished metal. Along the opposite wall was a bulletin board, and at the far end of the room was the mail clerk's desk, manned by an appropriately aging woman.

The building was nice and warm, so Krillin tucked his cold hands under his armpits and turned his attention to the bulletin board.

Mostly it was advertisements for domestic services - snow shovelling, cable repair, car sales. The only sound in the room was the soft shuffling of paper and Krillin's slow footsteps on the linoleum as he followed the long bulletin board down the room. The papers aged the closer he got to the desk, like visitors to the office had grown tired of changing the signs and moved on to the next building. These older signs were official announcements, mostly. Policy notices, missing persons, wanted posters - his eyes drifted across them lazily, until he was seized suddenly by two familiar faces on one faded poster.

He gasped audibly.

Seventeen and Eighteen stared back at him.

Krillin couldn't believe his eyes.

It was _definitely_ them - younger, but just as tired. Krillin thought they looked gaunt and dirty, like they'd neither eaten nor showed for a week, and they seemed very threatening, too, what with those criminal numbers and the _WANTED FOR ARSON_ in bold type beneath them.

More shocking than that, their names sat beneath their respective photographs.

Lapis beneath Seventeen, and Lazuli beneath Eighteen.

Krillin's heart was in his throat. His hands were cold again, but nervously at the tips of his fingers. He swallowed loudly.

(There were things he learned about her, over time and often by inference. Rarely would he ask her a direct question about such things, and these were only the most innocent of inquiries.

" _Eighteen, how old are you?_ " he had asked, resting his chin on the arm of the couch, peering at her like a puppy, " _When's your birthday?"_

From Gero's data she knew her age, but he'd neglected to include her birthday.

" _I'm lucky I know that much,"_ she said, then with the inflection of a joke added, " _We can't celebrate our birthday_ and _conquer the world at the same time."_

" _Oh,_ " Krillin said, then, after a pause, added, " _I bet you're a gemini."_

His prodding ended abruptly one day when he'd asked, boldly, what her real name was.

He remembered exactly how she responded. Slow and quiet, her brow lightly furrowed.

" _I'm... not sure."_ )

"Lazuli," he said softly. " _Lazuli._ "

It sounded so - so _foreign,_ and he thought, briefly, of their marriage certificate, where he'd married a lady named Eighteen, and how the sector service lady had squinted at her and asked for confirmation no fewer than four times.

She wouldn't have been so baffled by _Lazuli._

Krillin carefully pulled the poster down - the mail clerk didn't pay him any mind - and rolled it up.

Eighteen had a right to know, to choose who she wanted to be. If she wanted to be Lazuli again, he'd support her. He'd finally be give her a nickname, like Lass or Zuli or something of the sort, because he couldn't really call her _Eight_ now, or 'Teen, or anything like that.

 _Because nicknames are stupid, Krillin,_ she'd said, _just call me Eighteen._

And so he had.

He loved her name, anyway.

* * *

shout out to ghostlyjudge on tumblr for the prompt


	17. deadly melody

**21.**

He had just bought a boat.

It was _maybe_ a little irresponsible, but he did live on an island, and a car would do him no good. It's not like he didn't have experience on a ship - how else could he have afforded the vessel, were it not for his days spent hauling cargo for Bulma and her godforsaken company? Those had been short, repetitive journeys from West City's bay to South City and back, but they had provided him a means of income.

(Master Roshi needed a break from his adopted son, anyway.)

But now he was on a much deserved vacation, back in the waters of the east coast and his island home - back in his brand new _boat,_ no less.

Krillin had thrown the capsule into the water as hard as he could, and the boat that popped out of it had been just what he'd imagined (and just what he'd paid for). Oolong and the old man had tried to hop on with him, but Krillin had denied them - he wanted to conduct the ship's maiden voyage on his own.

He was several miles from the island when Krillin was ready to call this trip a success, and his boat _awesome._

 _Oh, that reminds me!_ Krillin thought, stepping out from under the shaded windshield, _I need to give her a name!_

He hummed thoughtfully, chin in hand.

Standing in the ocean breeze, he heard the first notes of music in the air.

It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.

The sound tickled his cheeks and hung in his ears as the melody grew closer. Krillin could hardly breathe for fear of missing a single second of the song; He clung to every unintelligible note, every rising and falling of the angelic voice he heard, following the music to the edge of his boat, tilting his head to capture more of the song. Dangerously, he stepped around the guard rails.

His boat continued its obediently deaf march forward, and Krillin could hear, bit by bit, as they passed the island the music was emanating from.

In a feverish haze he registered himself moving, _launching_ himself over the railings and stumbling to the wheel, desperate to recapture the song before it disappeared forever. He turned the wheel quickly, and found himself shouting happily aloud when the song reappeared.

Krillin leaned against his arms and closed his eyes, becoming immersed in the melody. He shivered - the song was nearing its peak.

The boat lurched, and Krillin bashed his head on the wheel and fell to the ground. Then, it lurched again, keeling from the front to the right.

"Ow!" Krillin hissed, grabbing his forehead, "What was that?"

The singing had ceased.

He stood carefully, sparing a glance at the blood on his hand. His brain felt fuzzy, and a throbbing ache jumped forward when he stood, propping himself up on the counter. Krillin hissed, grabbing his head, then he spared a glance upward.

Water was quickly filling a large hole in the deck, and his boat was, he noticed, tipping forward with the weight.

Krillin looked to his left, where an empty hook sat.

 _I forgot my lifejacket at home._

He'd considered before, how it might be to sit on a sinking ship. He thought he'd react wildly, groping a lifejacket and praying, or, if he were in a good mood, he'd imagine that maybe he would act bravely by saving someone else, or somehow save the entire ship and be deemed a hero.

But in reality, he felt calm. Those soft, sweet notes were still playing in his head as he stumbled out onto the deck, and the song seemed so loud when the boat dipped and he fell into the ocean.

The sound beneath the waves was muffled, even in his head. Krillin surfaced, spluttering and gasping, and desperately flung himself on the nearest piece of the wreckage, a large fibreglass panel that had been torn off, he expected, in the initial impact with those sharp stones beneath the waves.

Krillin climbed on it as best he could without capsizing, then he sighed, resting his head against the plastic.

Despite his predicament, Krillin didn't worry himself with questions of getting to shore or lamentations of thousands of zeni lost. Instead he thought about that light melody, and he tried his best to remember how it went, as lovely as it was. Krillin sighed. He wished the singer would start up again.

A fin appeared in the water.

Now he was a little worried.

Krillin scrambled to pull his hands and feet out of the water and, in his haste, nearly tipped over his makeshift vessel. He balanced on his hands and knees and watched the fin circle him.

Then it disappeared, and a lady replaced it.

They looked at each other. Krillin thought she was really quite pretty.

"Hi there," he said, baffled.

"Hello."

 _That voice…!_

"You were the one singing!" he said, almost falling over in his haste to point at her. "You were singing!"

"That's right."

"I - you -" he gripped his makeshift vessel tightly, "Your voice is so pretty! I - I wanted to hear more of it, but then I crashed my ship -" she snorted, "- and then I couldn't even hear you sing anymore! Why'd you stop? Will you sing some more? Please?"

She considered his excited grin for a moment, then rested her arms on the raft, set her chin on her arms, and hummed a soft note.

A shiver ran up Krillin's spine.

"Wow!" he said, shimmying forward on his sad little raft, "- Wow! Hold on - are you swimming? Did you swim all the way out here? You must be a really good swimmer, but you're even better at singing, I'd say. What was that song you were singing? Could you teach me it? I know I only heard a little of it, but I think it might be my new favorite song. At least when you sing it!"

Her expression was unreadably blank, but Krillin still felt ridiculously happy when he looked at her.

"You have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen. They're so blue."

"Thank you."

He leaned down on his hands, trying to meet her eye-line, and said, with all sincerity:

"I think blue's my favorite color."

Unexpectedly, she laughed.

"My, my, you are _entirely_ helpless, aren't you?" she smiled at him. "Not a lick of resistance."

"What do you mean?"

She considered him for a moment; Krillin could see a tail behind her, slowly lashing through the water.

"You need some help getting back to shore, don't you, sailor?"

He couldn't answer. Being addressed, even with "sailor", made his brain feel mushy, just like the song. The moment of silence stretched for half a minute before he found his voice again.

"You're really pretty."

"...I'll take that as a 'yes.' Come here."

Krillin threw himself overboard and into her arms. The woman sighed.

"Yeah, that seems about right."

It was hard for him to notice much in her arms - besides the fact that he was laying otter-style on the prettiest lady he'd ever seen - but he _did_ notice a few things, like her pointy ears, webbed hands, and the fins lining her limbs. He also noticed that her skin was really soft (except where it was scaly) and her hair was pretty and those pointy ears were just _adorable_.

(He had tried to tell her that, but the compliment turned into several, and she had to briefly duck underwater to shut him up. The second he'd finished coughing and finally caught his breath, he told her again.)

Krillin hadn't realized they were near an island until the fish-lady had thrown him onto the rocky shore of a cave, but here it was. He could only describe the cove as _aggressive,_ all sharp rocks and angry waves. It reminded him a bit of the _Creature from the Black Lagoon._ He could only see the dark mouth of the cave and the overhanging cliff above him, but he assumed that the island couldn't be _all_ grey. _A lady this pretty can't live somewhere so boring,_ he decided, imagining flowering fields across the way.

"There aren't any people on this island," she said, "so you'll have to wait for another boat, I suppose."

Krillin suddenly started.

"Oh! Wait!" He felt around his coat and his pants, then sighed. "Never mind."

"What?"

"I had one of those, uhm -" he had to look away from her to think, "- emergency radio things, but I think I left it on my boat."

"Your boat that's at the bottom of the ocean?"

"Yeah," he sighed, despondent, but then he jumped again, "There was another one!"

"Another radio?"

"That's right! I had this, uhm, survival kit thing, and the kit was plastic and it's _supposed_ to be waterproof, so maybe it's still in the boat...or, uh, what remains of the boat, I guess. The ocean parts."

"Okay," she said, pushing herself from the shore, "I'll go look for it, then."

"Wait!" he said, reaching out into the water after her, "I have a question!"

She paused.

"What's your name?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen," he breathed, and she rolled her eyes and turned away. He lunged at the water again, nearly tipping into the cove.

"Wait! My name is Krillin."

"Okay."

He didn't want Eighteen and her pretty voice and blue eyes to leave, even if she _was_ leaving for his sake and would come back. She tried to leave again, and this time he grabbed at her with both hands. Krillin slipped, but Eighteen caught him before he could crack his head open for a second time that day. She set his hands firmly on shore.

"Stay here, Krillin."

"But -"

"No. Sit down and stay here."

He opened his mouth, then closed it with a frown. He sat back.

"Good boy," she said with a snort, then she was gone.

Krillin's face turned crimson.

 _Wow! A fish lady that sings nice!_

He rubbed his head.

 _Wait a second... a fish lady… who sings nice…_

He had heard stories before, of sailors lured to their death by singing temptresses, but he'd always dismissed them as superstition - like whistling or keeping a cat onboard. But then, he _did_ live with a talking pig, so _maybe_ he shouldn't have been so quick to disregard those rumors as unbelievable.

 _Funny,_ he thought, _I always thought they had wings. She's so beautiful, though, she already looks like an angel. An angel with shark teeth and a rudder for a tail._

He laid back against the cavern floor. The cool surface felt nice on his throbbing forehead - Krillin sighed quietly and closed his eyes. As the minutes stretched into an hour, and Eighteen's absence grew longer, Krillin's blissful ache gave way to sobering possibilities.

 _...What if she's going to kill me?_

He shook his head, and hissed at the sting of his headache.

 _No - gah - she wouldn't bother looking for the radio, then, and she wouldn't have bothered to bring me back her alive at all._

…

He sat up suddenly, and, between hissing and clutching his head, thought:

 _She sunk my boat! She's a siren, and she sunk! my! boat!_

 _She sinks my boat, then she has the audacity to rescue me? Even if she is gorgeous, that's - that's - well, I don't know what it is, but the nerve!_

Krillin was positively _fuming._

 _Of all the ladies in the world, cute little pointy-eared or not, I just had to run into the one who'd sink my ship! My! Ship!_

He aggressively waited, arms crossed and face furiously red.

The moment her head broke the surface, he was accusing her.

"You wrecked my ship!"

Eighteen set the emergency kit on the shore and studied him. Unexpectedly, she gave him a wry smile.

"My, my, it sure took a long time."

"What? For me to figure out your - your - your _sirenness?!"_

"No, it took a long time for the song to wear off," she said, pulling herself out of the water. Krillin was a strong man, but he eyed her sharp teeth and dangerously thick tail and decided the outcome of a fight wouldn't be in his favor. He couldn't help but notice how muscular she was, but he was _proudly_ able to look past that.

Sort of.

 _Her thighs are nice._

He shook the thought out of his head.

 _Gah! What am I thinking! She's a - a - a - I don't know! A fish pirate! I should call the coast guard!_

"Most sailors shake the spell off in a couple of minutes, but you were dumbstruck for well over an hour," she sat heavily on the ground, and her ears flicked as drops of water tickled them, "It was _adorable._ You're quite the charmer."

He blushed.

"So you sink boats to… I don't know, get compliments?"

She leaned back on her hands.

"I sink boats to keep them away from the island."

"How does that work? You draw them _towards_ your island."

"Every sailor who actually does his homework _knows_ not to come here because _I've_ made it dangerous. They just think this region is hard to navigate."

Krillin frowned.

"That's so - there's nothing _here,_ why would any sailor be interested in a pile of rocks?"

"It's not the _rocks,_ " she scoffed, offended, "There's a _fantastic_ reef surrounding the island, and we don't want anyone to hurt it."

He paused.

He'd always had a soft spot for animals, especially marine creatures - it came from growing up on an island, surrounded by the ocean, and sailing the seas on his laborious cargo voyages. All of his hard work was made worth it when he glimpsed a massive whale breach, or when a pod of porpoises leapt curiously around the ship.

(The money certainly didn't hurt, too, but even that was channeled into his love for the ocean in the form of a ship that this lovely lady had just sank.)

This sector was not a fishing hotbed - rather, the majority of commerce in this area was in the form of _real estate,_ and not every island was like Master Roshi's - uninhabited and unimportant. While growing up on Kame Island, Krillin had seen beautiful islands razed for houses and airfields. He hadn't considered, really, that _every_ island was up for grabs, no matter how precious it might be, and he definitely hadn't considered how those homes could hurt the reefs.

 _That's… not a bad reason, I guess._

Suddenly he looked at her.

"Wait, did you say 'we'?"

 _Please don't tell me she has some hunky mer-boyfriend._

"My brother lives on the island as well," she explained.

"Oh," he said, relieved.

They were quiet for a moment.

Then, Krillin sighed.

"That was the only time I got to sail my boat."

"Oh. Sorry," she said, then she looked at him cautiously, "...but maybe I could make it up to you?"

"...How?"

She hesitated.

"I could show you the reef."

Then, he hesitated.

It couldn't have been offered lightly - if Eighteen was willing to kill (indirectly or not) sailors for the island, then why would she just let him get so near what she was defending?

 _I must be about as threatening as a puppy,_ he thought.

"I mean - you'd need some scuba gear, but it's the best I can offer."

"Oh great, I get to spend more zeni."

Eighteen laughed.

"It'll be worth it, I swear."

"Okay, yeah," he said with a smile, "That would work."

The memory of her voice hit him, then, and, pausing, he could almost feel the feverish delight it had caused. Krillin could only remember a few notes, but more than anything he wanted to _feel_ the melody again, light in his lungs and around his head. Even Eighteen's speaking voice carried a certain melody that captured him, but he was certain _that_ had nothing to do with magic.

"Could… could you sing for me, too?" he asked shyly, looking away from her and restlessly rubbing his arm.

"Looking to make a fool of yourself again?" she said with amusement.

"No, it's just - I meant what I said earlier… all of it. About your eyes, and your hair, and how cute your ears are… Your voice is the most lovely thing I've ever heard."

"Are you flirting with me, sailor?"

"I've never met anyone like you."

She laughed.

"That doesn't surprise me," she said, flexing her webbed fins to emphasize her point. She considered him for a moment, then spoke again. "I _suppose,_ " she said, "That it's only right if I fulfill your request - after all, I just sent quite a bit of your zeni to the bottom of the ocean."

His heart sped up, and he could hardly contain his excitement at her promise to sing again. Eighteen gave an amused sigh, and he wondered if she could hear the rapid beat, beat, beating of his heart. He wouldn't be surprised if she could. It seemed so loud to him, like it filled the cavern with its rhythm.

Eighteen cleared her throat, then she tilted her head and looked at him

"You'll probably be a sappy mess for another hour, you know."

"I am perfectly fine with that, actually."

She shook her head with a laugh, then she took a deep breath and began singing.

From a distance it had been enchanting - it had caught him completely in a desperate frenzy to find her again. But up close it was _amazing._ His entire body seemed to respond, his blood electric and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up like he'd stuck a fork in the toaster. Krillin's breath caught in his throat - he swallowed a knot so thick he swore he felt it drop to his stomach and form a thick cloud of butterflies.

A glow seemed to surround Eighteen. Krillin had heard the word _glamour_ before, but he thought this was beyond a spell to make her _seem_ beautiful - she simply _was_ beautiful, and it was like he was seeing her for the first time again. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

He found, then, that he had subconsciously scooted towards her, until his knee was pressed against hers. Krillin's nails were digging into his thighs, but he couldn't feel the pain at all, not when Eighteen was making him shiver and his mind cloudy as could be. In the heat of the moment, he found that he'd forgotten his name, and the only word he could recall was _Eighteen, Eighteen, Eighteen._

It was over too soon, though the song must have lasted for some time; Krillin wished it had gone on forever.

"I'd crash a thousand boats if it meant I could hear you sing all my life."

"Isn't that the point?" she said, resting on laurels with a sly smile.

He tried to move closer, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Easy there, tiger."

"I just want to kiss you," he whined.

"Of course you do _now,_ " she scoffed, "but you might regret it later."

"I'd never regret kissing the most beautiful woman in the world."

She let out a derisive snort as she stood, picking up the case from where Krillin had left it. She tossed it, and it hit him in the chest, his reflexes too slow to catch it.

"Fire up that radio, lover. It's time for you to go."

"Aww!" he whined. He had never felt so depressed as when he opened that case, and he cranked the radio so slowly that Eighteen told him to _hurry up!_

On the bright side, she finally noticed the bloody gash on his head (perhaps after he groaned and complained of a headache). Krillin was more thankful for the survival kit's part in Eighteen gently bandaging his head with those soft, warm hands than he was for the bandages themselves. He almost purred from the experience.

(When the radio was ready and he signalled the coast guard, his voice was so somber that they asked how many men he had lost.

 _No men,_ Eighteen had whispered, observing the way he leaned into her every touch, _but he's certainly lost all of his dignity.)_

"They're on their way," Krillin said with a sigh.

"Cheer up," Eighteen said, hand brushing his hair back, "You can always come back with another boat for me to sink."

In his siren song-induced state, he found it tempting.

"...I can tell you're considering it. Don't you dare."

"But I'd like to see you again," he whined, but she laughed.

"Well, how far away do you live?"

"I live on an island northwest of here," he said quickly, "It's really small and only has a pink house on it."

"Maybe I'll just have to visit you."

"Yes, please!"

Eighteen laughed at his excitement, then summarily tossed him out of the cave and into the water.

She had followed him idly out of the cave, as he pulled himself up on the outer shore of the island - she had had to push him towards the shore, as determined as he was to be near her, and they only compromised when Eighteen agreed to follow him all the way to the furthest part of the island, where the coast guard would be most likely to see him.

Eighteen was extraordinarily lazy, lounging on her back and moving forward with slow, consistent swishes of her tail. He trotted along on the beach, the ebb and flow of the tide soaking his feet as he tried to keep up with her. When they reached the tip of the island, Eighteen slowed, and Krillin was reminded once more of otters resting on the sea.

"You're not going to drown yourself if I leave, are you?"

Krillin frowned.

"Won't you wait with me?"

"I'm not a big fan of boats."

Despite her denial, Eighteen lingered near Krillin for another half hour before saying _see you around_ and disappearing beneath the waves.

As time passed, Krillin's head felt clearer, sharper, and he was one hundred percent embarrassed by his complete honesty with Eighteen.

 _Well… she_ is _pretty, and kissing her would be - ah, what am I thinking?_

Krillin's dark red embarrassment was interrupted by a boat on the horizon - Krillin crowed into the radio as he jumped up and down and wildy waved his arm.

They asked limited questions as they picked the exhausted sailor up, having seemingly concluded that the amateur hadn't realized how dangerous the area was. Krillin was drying himself off when he heard two of the men congratulating one another on piloting through such devastating waters.

 _Yeah, you're so cool, not crashing when Eighteen is_ letting _you leave._

…

 _I'm a fantastic sailor. Jerks._

Krillin paused, towel in hand and hair fluffed from drying. He sighed.

 _Oolong and Master Roshi are never going to let me live this down._


	18. knock next time

**23.**

Yamcha hadn't seen Krillin in weeks.

It hurt, just a little, to have his calls dodged by his old friend.

He got that enough from the ladies.

Maybe Krillin was just getting serious about his hiatus from fighting. _Sparring,_ Yamcha had argued, _isn't really "training." It's just working out, bro. Come on, you'd be helping me out._

So, once or twice a week, Krillin would whoop Yamcha, and Yamcha would go home with bruises and a few pointers.

He'd dropped their matches without notice. Yamcha had thought at first that Krillin had simply forgotten - uncharacteristic of the former monk, but not unlikely. It was entirely possible that Krillin was busy.

Still, Yamcha didn't like being ignored - and that was what brought him here now, landing on Kame Island at midday. The turtle hermit sat in his usual spot on the deck chair, mid-way through his daily filth.

"Hey, Master Roshi," Yamcha said, startling the hermit from his stupor, "Is Krillin here?"

"I'm sure he's - _heh_ \- in his room."

"Thanks, pops," Yamcha replied, thinking nothing of his tone as he trotted into the house and up the stairs. He could hear Krillin as he approached the room, huffing and grunting. Peculiar as that was, Yamcha dismissed it.

 _He's probably just working out inside to get out of the sun - man, he's getting soft. Strongest man on the planet can't take a little heat?_

"Yo, Krillin," Yamcha called, opening the door without knocking.

He was met with an embarrassing sight.

Krillin was on top of a blonde woman, rolling his hips in and out of her briskly.

The pair of them noticed Yamcha in the same moment, and the woman pulled the blanket towards her quickly. Both Krillin and Yamcha yelped, and Yamcha slammed the door shut.

"S-sorry!" He shouted as he dashed away, leaping down the last six steps of the stairs and barrelling out of Kame House. He slammed the door behind him, and immediately looked at Master Roshi.

"Do you know that Krillin is - what he's - _who_ he's -"

"Why yes, I do," the turtle hermit said. "Eighteen's a scary lady, but Krillin's fond of her, so -" he shrugged.

"Yeah, I'd say he's a little more than _fond_ of her, Master, given the way he was -" Yamcha shuddered, and didn't finish the thought. "Gosh, Krillin's got a girlfriend. No wonder he's not interested in fighting anymore."

A silent moment passed.

Yamcha blinked.

"Did you say Eighteen?"


	19. it must be that global warming

**24.**

It was a beautiful day.

Even for Kame House, it was extraordinary - perfect blue skies, shining sun, quiet waves. A cool breeze tempered the pleasant heat. Lovely days like this made the decision to stay at Kame House oh so easy for Krillin.

(Especially on such a quiet day - Master Roshi and Oolong had taken a day-long sojourn to Satan City for reasons Krillin really did not want to know. Any interest they shared was guaranteed to be gross. In their case, ignorance was always bliss.)

Krillin lounged casually on the deck chair in his swim trunks, a glass of iced tea in one hand and non-pornographic magazine in the other. He took a long sip of his tea.

 _Ahh, life is good._

The porch door swung open, and Krillin turned to look just as Eighteen greeted him.

He inhaled a mouthful of tea.

Eighteen was wearing a swimsuit - a two-piece by the looks of it, though the bottom half was covered by a beach skirt. The swimsuit was black and the skirt was a floral design on a light pink background. Eighteen carried a beach towel under her arm and a bottle of sunscreen in her hands. She raised an eyebrow at him (and his coughing fit) as she laid her beach towel out on the sand.

"Hey," he croaked, finally catching his breath.

He almost choked again when she undid the beach skirt.

She wore skirts often, and almost always with tights (a necessity, given how short Oolong was, and how little fear he had of death), but Krillin had never seen her legs quite this plainly, and he couldn't help but notice how defined her abs were, or how her hips disappeared in a v below her swimsuit.

He buried his burning face in his magazine.

 _This recipe for chicken parmesan sure is interesting - gosh, I'd never think to use that much basil and - and so much garlic!_

A lovely picture of a heart-healthy dish couldn't compete with the image of Eighteen in his head. He turned the page and found the words uninterpretable.

Eighteen pulled the magazine off his face.

"Hey dweeb," she said, shaking the bottle of sunscreen, "Give me a hand."

"What?"

"I can't reach my back."

 _"What?"_

She shoved the bottle in his hands and tugged him off the deck chair.

"Come on," she said, laying on the beach towel, "This was your idea anyway. Remember?"

It took him a moment to recall, given the five-to-ten second pretty-girl induced delay his brain was suffering from.

Eighteen had been incredibly pale when she'd first arrived on the island, and, unsurprisingly, she vastly overestimated her natural resilience. Over five years living underground had rendered her unused to sunlight - and it wasn't shocking at all that she burned so easily. Krillin thought it karma for spending all that time watching him reshingle the roof without lifting a finger, but he did feel sort of bad when he saw her bright red cheeks and arms.

He felt bad enough to give her his bottle of aloe vera, and smart enough to buy another bottle of extra-strength sunscreen and leave it in her room without mentioning it.

It was that bottle she had shoved in his slick (when did they get so sweaty?) hands, and it almost tumbled to the ground when Eighteen pulled the tie on her bra, leaving only her hand holding it in place before she settled on her stomach. She rested her head on one arm and motioned with the other hand.

Krillin dropped to his knees and squeezed some lotion on his hand.

 _I'm dead, right? Like, actually dead. I've died and gone to heaven. King Kai can suck a hot one, 'cause this is way better than any dead-man training I could ever do. Oh my God. Her skin is so soft. She has so many muscles. Oh my God._

He understood, in a flash, why Master Roshi and Oolong were so obsessed with women.

"I figured I'd take advantage -"

 _Of me? And my huge crush on you?_

"- and tan while the pigs were out."

"Oh," he said, only paying half-attention to her words while he rubbed her shoulders. He'd never realized how amazing shoulders could feel.

Eighteen's eyes were closed. She seemed so relaxed, while Krillin had never been so overwhelmed in his life. Somehow, he felt dizzy and clear-headed all at once.

As he moved his hands over her shoulder blades, Krillin noticed thin, light pink scars ribboning along her back, up, down, parallel and perpendicular - not at all like his ragged, uneven scars that dotted his arms and splashed across his chest and back. He chose not to think about it.

Krillin hesitated when he reached the bottom of her ribcage.

"You can go lower," she mumbled, reading his mind. The vibrations sent shivers up his spine.

Spreading sunscreen on her lower back and brushing occasionally along her sides, Krillin could almost imagine how tight her abs must be.

 _I'd saw off my right foot for a chance to bounce a quarter off her abs._

 _…_

 _That's a little obsessive, Krillin._

It almost broke his heart when the last part of her back was covered.

"All done," he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice and pushing himself to his knees. Eighteen stopped him when he tried to stand, tugging him back down by the arm. Holding her swimsuit on with one arm, Eighteen pulled him in and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks."

"A-anytime," he replied, his voice higher pitched than he would have liked. Eighteen ran her thumb across his crimson cheek.

"Maybe you should put some sunscreen on, hmm? You look a little red."

"Y-yeah," he said, "Uh - good idea."

Eighteen let him go with a smile.

Eighteen laid down, and Krillin returned to the deck chair with hearts floating over his head.


End file.
